


No Rest for the Wicked

by whispering_angels



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drama, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Season 3 Spoilers, Secrets, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24116683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispering_angels/pseuds/whispering_angels
Summary: Things are about to get complicated when you, a Military Police Brigade soldier, decides to transfer to its rival division, the Survey Corps.It starts with being under the scrutiny of Levi, but turns out that's barely scratching the surface.
Relationships: Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader, Levi/Reader
Comments: 206
Kudos: 412





	1. Chapter 1

The intense heat of the sun burns not only the ground stand on but also your face, and the pungent smell of men and women whose bodies are drenched with sweat take over your senses. You _definitely_ do not miss this part of the training.

A vast majority of the recruits flock in the middle of the training grounds, working themselves to the bone in preparation for the day they'll have to pick a military division. Graduation day is just around the corner, and as a result, you've been tasked by the Commander of the Military Police Brigade to scout for potential members. It was frankly a fairly easy decision given that paperwork was the other option. For someone who has always wanted her body to move, sitting still is obviously the last resort, if at all.

Three years ago, you were in the same position as these trainees, sharpening your skills day and night until they were enough to warrant you a spot in the Top Ten. Much thought was put in choosing which division you wanted to go, just as Keith Shadis had told all of you to do so, and it was ultimately the longing for the fame and glory and change that you never had in all your years that became the deciding factor.

People just seem to always want to have anything and everything that they don't have, don't they? That’s how you ended up choosing the Military Police Brigade.

How you ended up in a cursed land.

Three grueling years have taught you that if you wanted to make a change, then the Military Police isn’t the place for you. It’s exactly the _least_ one you should’ve considered, but your naivety when you were younger was a force to be reckoned with. Much of the base the Military Police stands on rely on dirty politics and power play, and most, if not everyone, turn a blind eye to these, proving to you that this corruption is part of the norm.

It is exactly this hunger for fame and glory that drives people to insanity. To selfish madness.

Just a few weeks ago, you’ve decided to transfer to the Survey Corps where your skills could be put to much better use. Where you could freely move. Someone once said to you that it's in the Military Police where you could freely move, turns out they meant a different kind of moving: when you have power in your hands, the the law is on your side, illegality nothing but a mere, foreign concept. You went from one officer to another, asking for letters of recommendation. Some outright glared and refused, while others — the few ones who were actually doing their jobs right — gave you exactly what you needed.

Now you just have to give them to the Commander of the Survey Corps.

From a barely visible distance, Erwin Smith observes some trainees do hand-to-hand combats. This is the perfect opportunity to present your idea since he isn’t busy talking to someone else. He immediately notices your presence upon your arrival.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” He slightly turns to you, his eyes momentarily glazing at you and the badge on uniform before returning to the cadets — one with an ash brown undercut and one with dark brown hair — who are intent on impressing the blond man. He exudes every bit of integrity you thought he'd have, reaffirming your initial notion of him — no wonder his soldiers show him respect.

“Good morning, Commander Smith,” you shake hands with him firmly as you state your name. “I'm from the Military Police Brigade and, um-” you stutter. Damn, now’s not a good time to let your nerves get the best of you. “I was hoping I could hoping I could transfer to the Survey Corps.”

Now you have his undivided attention.

He fully turns to you, his whole body facing you now. This is the one shot you’ve been waiting for.

“And what might be the purpose for this?”

There's a prepared answer for that, the one he'd like to hear, and that's what you'll give to him. “Just like all the other cadets, sir. I want to save humanity. And I can’t do that within the walls.”

“Hmm,” you both start walking slowly, side-by-side, staring into the distance. “I hope I’m not crossing any boundaries here, but if I may ask,” he stops walking and looks at you straight in the eye, as if searching in your eyes for the truth. “Why are you leaving the Military Police Brigade?”

Of course, that’s part of his business. If there's one thing you know he has and should have, it's skepticism; otherwise he won't have been able to live this long. To think that he even thought that it isn’t in his position to ask that was beyond absurd to you — or maybe he's just humoring you.

Stifling a small sarcastic laugh, you decide to test the waters. There’s no need to come up with a lie, he knows enough of the inner workings of the division you're in to be able to see through all kinds of flowery, dazzling façades.

You look at him with malice in your eyes, a small smile tugging playfully at your lips.

“I think we both know the reason for that already, Commander. All your guesses are right.”

You wait a beat as you let him draw conclusions about you. It's amusing to no end watching people figure you out.

Oftentimes, the assumptions people make about someone reflect more of them than the person they try so hardly to decipher.

“Anyway, here are the all the information you may need about me as well as letters of recommendation, sir.” You hand a small envelope containing all the documents you’ve mentioned before the tiny ounce of courage in you left disappears.

As he takes the item from you with a calm demeanor, he feels severely intrigued. Excited, even. “I see. We will contact you as soon as possible.”

Nodding, you put a balled fist in front of your heart as a sign of respect, and as a sign of solidarity.

Relief floods you: that went better than you thought it would.

What you don’t notice are the eyes of Humanity’s Strongest, Levi, glued on you. You have no idea he’s also here. He walked to Erwin right after you were done talking to him to see what the seemingly interesting conversation was about.

“Oi. Care to tell me what that woman was here for?” Levi interrogated Erwin with that bored voice of his as he snatched the folder.

“She wants to transfer to our division. She’s quite a soldier, you know,” Erwin remarked, increasing curiosity gnawing at his consciousness.

“Oh?”

“I asked her why she’s leaving the Brigade. She just laughed and didn’t bother to explain. Just said all my guesses are right. That’s quite the audacity.”

Levi didn’t reply, his gray eyes transfixed at your name.

_Military Police Brigade officer._

_Interesting._

* * *

The sun, in its bright, orange glory, is about to set, and you’ve just left the training grounds to provide the office a full report.

You make your way through the city, zipping past the tall, glistening buildings that envelop the place rich people call a safe haven. The twists and turns of the roads here have been imprinted in your mind, memorized like the back of your hand. The first year as a Military Police soldier was spent roaming the streets ensuring the discipline among the townspeople before, and then a promotion to a much higher rank that dealt with closed-door matters ensued. It was the year you discovered the dark, murky secrets of the filthy military pigs who knew nothing but slack the day away in brothels, waste their money — and the ones they stole from paid taxes — drinking alcohol in the streets or pubs, and lambaste the citizens they’ve sworn to protect.

Feeling the wind hit your face, you stop dead in your tracks when you see from the corner of your eye two armed soldiers moving in an agitated manner in one of the alleyways.

You halt and hit the ground softly, and then quickly rush to where the commotion is happening. Shock wraps your body as you witness what was happening.

_Holy shit._

Are they beating up innocent people? Innocent _kids_?

You feel nauseous. They reek of absolute garbage.

“HEY!” You scream, running as fast as your feet can take you to your fellow officers. One of them puts himself between you and the kids.

“Leave, before we make that pretty face of yours bleed.” he warned, voice dripping with venom.

“No. You have no right to hurt them.” You assume the kids are innocent — they do seem honest, and they’re wearing fabrics too thin to be able to hide anything. Officers looking for trouble is what these men are.

“Yeah, well, we need some good punches today.”

You brace yourself. Here you go again.

“Oh yeah? Well, here’s one,” you say, and a swift punch lands at the cheek of the soldier you're talking to. He stumbles back and wipes the fresh blood that trickles from the cut that has just appeared on his face.

“You _bitch_!”

Running forward, he clenches his right fist and swings it at your face. You move to the side and punch his jaw from below and kick him backwards easily enough, the stench of alcohol tangible on him. The other officer begins to lunge at you, thinking you couldn’t handle two men, but jokes on them because you’ve had _years_ of hand-to-hand combat experience.

As the former office stumbles back once more, you duck in order to avoid the blow from the second officer. You abruptly reach for his shoulders and use your knee to hit his groin roughly. In one smooth motion, he is rendered off-balance as you swing your left leg at his right one. Once he’s lying on the ground, he receives another punch for good measure.

The first officer walks towards you, waiting for your attack. You send a blow and slow enough for him to be able to grab your wrist. When you do the same thing with your other hand, he smiles wickedly as he catches your wrist once more.

A wicked smile of your own is what is returned.

The strength of his grip allows you to lift yourself up and do a backflip. In the process, you kick his face with feet together with all the momentum you’ve gathered, causing his grips to loosen, therefore releasing you. The 5-second advantage you’ve created is put to good use when you knock him out cold.

“Hey, let’s get out of here. Be careful next time, alright?” You lift the two kids to your sides and use your ODM gear to drop them off at a safer part of the city.

Then you storm the office of your superior.

“Are you really just going to let your men beat up people?!” You seethe in anger.

“They need to relieve stress.” He picks up his pen and starts writing, unfazed by your sudden outburst.

“So you’re not denying it. And ha! Stress from what? Being lazy and resting too much?”

He throws the pen back on the table: you've managed to rile him up.

“Can you ZIP IT? I have much more important things to think about than your moral compass.”

Provocation is a specialty of yours, and it's a different level of bliss when you use it on fraudulent people like him.

“Like how you’d get the king’s favor so you could get more money, am I right?”

“Careful with that tone. You’re under my command, so either you suck it up or you leave.” He says dangerously, but his face has gone back to being completely blank again. He picks up one of the paper and pretends to read its contents.

That's the final straw — the thin wire that has kept you connected to this place has finally snapped, like a rubber band that's been stretched beyond its elasticity.

It was supposed to be a peaceful, proper resignation, one that follows due process, but one more minute near these assholes and you'll likely go haywire.

“Not anymore. Because I resign. Effective this instant.”

“And what? Join the Survey Corps?” He derides you, a humorless laugh echoing in the room.

You step back a little, stunned he knows about your little secret. You've made it a point not to ask a letter of recommendation from him, knowing his disdain is enough to merit you an automatic no, and his connections can influence other officers to turn against you.

“Oh I know. Don’t look so surprised. You’ve caused quite a stir among the officials when you started asking for those damned letters. Putting hostilities aside, that’s too bad, you know? You’re one of our finest soldiers here, if not the best. We could use your abilities here. Are you sure you want to _throw_ your life away?”

_Yeah, right. I may be part of the Top 10, but I’m not the best. I didn’t get the top spot._

“Damn right I’m joining the Corps. Between the both of us, it's not me who's throwing their life away, decaying in their throne of lies. At least I’m choosing to do something for humanity unlike you, you selfish bastards. And as you’ve so kindly pointed out, I’m one of your finest soldiers. Clearly, I won’t die that easily in the battlefield. I won’t allow it. None of the abilities you say I possess are being put to use here,” you spit.

There’s no way in hell you’re letting him get the last say, so you add one final sentence before he has the chance to speak.

“Have fun kissing the King’s ass.”

The jacket you have on merely a second ago now rests on his table, the papers below it in a chaotic mess. You leave the room, slamming the door as hard you could. Judging from the sound, the entire building must have shook.

In all of your three years here, you’ve strived to do as much as you can, tried to correct the system as hard as you can — even going as far as sending officials in jail. But there is only so much you can take.

Once this war against titans is over, you will make sure all hell breaks loose and the crooked officials pay the price of their treachery to the people. Now, you will have to kill the titans first.

You’ve decided to break and beat the system that rules this world once and for all, and this your first step.

 _If I can’t correct it, I will defy it. So long, Military Police Brigade._

* * *

You’re walking aimlessly around the Corps, afraid and, frankly, lost. This place is huge. It was three days—three jobless days—before you got a reply, and with the receipt of the mail, a silent thanks is what you give your past self for having the brains to put the personal address as the mailing address.

Your last few minutes Military Police may be your most emotional one yet.

Before you left the compound, you made sure to visit your best friend so you could at least give a proper goodbye. You met her during training and she definitely made life less miserable.

“Hey, Astrid.” You sat beside your friend on one of the benches and smiled tightly at her.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“I—what—how did you-“

“Just an inkling. And your face,” she teased. “You look like you’ve just been in a fight.”

 _Yeah, twice_.

“I’m sorry for leaving you.” There's no words left to say, only sadness was left in the pit of your stomach, but she’s your best friend for a reason. She didn’t words to know how you feel.

“It’s okay. I’ve realized it for quite a while now. Whenever you talk about killing titans and seeing the world beyond the walls, I sense the passion you never have whenever we’re doing our jobs here. It was just a matter of time. And I don’t blame you. This place a different kind of hell with a different kind of monster,” she laughed darkly.

You gripped her hand tightly.

“Please take care for me. I know you’re also trying to change things here, and you have my full and utmost support. I believe that one day, when I come back, you’re successful. I’ll always be cheering you on from the barracks. I just think I want to change things in a different way.”

“You take care as well. I mean it. I think you need that goodluck charm more than I do. I’ll miss you.” she smiled sadly and longingly. 

You two shared the longest the hug you had ever given each other.

A bump into someone with slightly curly brown hair styled into an undercut puts you out of your trance.

“Sorry, I was spacing out.”

“Hey, you’re a new face. Who are you?” He extends a hand which you casually shake back. “I’m Oluo by the way. Oluo Bozado.”

_A new friend already? Nice._

“Hi,” you introduce yourself, “I just transferred here. Do you know where the commander’s office is?” It’s been ages and you still can’t find it.

“That’s a cool name. Yeah, just go straight ahead and then turn left at the first corner. It’s at the right side and there’s a big sign on the door. It’s weird for a new member to arrive, though. Aren’t the recruits still training?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly a fresh recruit,” you grimace. “Long story. Anyway, I have to get going. Thanks and see you around!”

Oluo is left looking confused as you rush your way to the office, about to be late for your first formal encounter with the commander as a member of the Corps. You knock on the door and introduce yourself, and a voice ushers you to come in.

“There you are, cadet. I was wondering whether you’ve lost your way.”

The Commander’s sitting on his desk, hands clasped together and elbows planted on top of the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir. I actually was, good thing I came across a fellow soldier.”

His hand motions to the brunette woman with glasses staring at you.

“I’d like you to meet Squad Leader Hange Zoe. Hange here is our top scientist and she’s currently leading our experiments regarding the truth of the titans.”

She beams, looking pleased to have new company.

“Hi, nice meet to you! I heard you’re from the Military Police. I’ve never seen a face quite like yours. I like it.”

You inwardly cringe at the mention of that ungodly name, hoping she isn’t prejudiced, because you’re nothing like those military scumbags—your best friend obviously excluded from that twisted narrative as well.

“Uhh.. thanks?” Stepping forward, you tell her your name and a short greeting, not quite sure how to react about the fact that she’s ‘never seen a face quite like yours.’

“Don’t worry, I meant that as a compliment!” Hange puts her hand up in her defense, realizing how different it must have sounded to you.

The door suddenly opens and a short man with black, straight hair fashioned into an undercut barges in.

“Erwin, shitty glasses, we need new cleaning supplies—” He stops gruffly, noticing there's another individual in the room.

_Captain Levi._

“Perfect timing, Levi.” The commander says, and then he addresses you. “Meet Captain Levi. Levi, she's the new member.” He beams at Levi, who, on the other hand, is wearing a carefully sculpted scowl.

He grunts, seemingly uninterested, and then gives you a sideways glance.

“Right. We need new cleaning supplies. I’m making the order. If you have anything to add to the shipment, tell me right away.”

“You know you’re the only who ever notices the cleaning supplies left, Levi. I have nothing to add yet.”

“Tch.”

“Ooh, wait, there’s a ton of devices that I need to procure for my latest trial! I’ll give you the list later,” Hange interjects, her eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

Your eyes dart at them, feeling like a trespasser — unwanted. Commander Erwin claps his hands to capture your attention.

“I nearly forgot to tell you, but this is different from the Military Police and we deal with the outside world _more_ ,” the insinuation is subtle, but it's clear. You aren’t offended as you’re sure he meant that as a diss to the division as a whole and not you, but you wish they’d stop bringing that up. People like jumping to conclusions, so one small slip that you’re from that place and you’ll probably never hear the end of it. You might get ganged up on, or worse, killed in your sleep because they got the ridiculous idea that you’re double-crossing the Corps.

He proceeds. “Which means we have more frequent trainings. Levi’s going to supervise yours.”

_He’ll what?_

“Why am I hearing about you making me a brat’s parent just now?” He snarls, his eyes narrowing at the Commander.

“Didn’t I tell you?” The commander retorts, feigning ignorance. “Must have slipped my mind.”

“ _Fuck you_ , you big old liar.” The captain hisses.

“You wound me Levi, calling me old.” Commander Erwin’s jokes flatly, clearly unbothered by the remark.

Your mind is whirling. _The_ Captain Levi, Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, known for his impeccable precision in killing titans, his short temper, and sometimes also his ruthlessness, is the one who will scrutinize you?

_Well fuck me._

You don’t realize you’ve said that last bit out loud.

Hange looks stunned, her mouth agape. Erwin is as relaxed as ever, like usual, although there _is_ a tiny hint of a smirk gracing his lips.

On the other hand, the receiver of the message, Levi, merely arches an eyebrow.

It takes a few seconds for the realization that not only have you cursed out loud, you've also spewed an accidental sexual innuendo to dawn on you, and when it does, your pupils dilate. This is not exactly the first formal impression you were hoping to make in front of the three. You try to explain and rectify your mistake, holding on for dear life.

_Can the titans swallow me whole now?_

“W-wait sorry—no I didn’t mean—that’s not how it’s supposed to—I didn’t intend— _shit, fuck_ —”

The captain pretends not to hear you stammering and directly addresses your earlier blunder with a poker expression.

“It’s a bit too soon for that, don’t you think?”

_WHAT?_

He turns his back and leaves.

Looking a hundred percent shocked, your face flushes into a thousand different shades of embarrassment.

_WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED JUST NOW?_

Hange’s laughing her head off.

“Looks like you and the captain are going to get along just great and make a fine duo,” Erwin quips, visibly amused at the recent spectacle.

Ah, damn it. What a way to start your life here.

_Hello, Survey Corps. I’m ready to set the world on fire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This was supposed to be two chapters already, but I'm not sure if I’d be able capture as much interest if I ended this with the reader storming out of MP compound lol. Anyway, I hope you like it and this got you fired up or something. Leave feedback if you can, thanks :)
> 
> Check out my other Levi (or if you're interested, Dramione) fics!
> 
> Fic includes major events from Seasons 1-3 of the anime.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been two days since the incident.

Not just an incident. _The_ incident.

The one where you entered the commander’s room cool, calm and collected, but went out with absolutely zero poise. The one where you had robbed yourself of all and any shred of dignity. The one where you managed to ruin your reputation in front of the three most respected individuals in the Corps in the most _graceful_ way possible. Yes, that’s the one.

Come to think of it. You didn’t have _any_ reputation yet, and yet it was already stained.

The two succeeding days were pretty uneventful like you had hoped. Erwin has graciously given you some time to settle and explore the barracks.

Your first friend, Oluo, decided to be the one to give you a tour. He constantly joked and inserted side comments and— _was he trying to imitate someone?_ You’re not quite sure. Not long after, he introduced you to the members of the Special Operations Squad, which is, apparently, the elite squad in the Corps.

“So this squad, you say, is like the best of the best?” You munched the piece of potato in your mouth, an early dinner with them.

“Something like that, yeah. We’re handpicked by the Captain himself. And,” Oluo put a hand on his mouth, pretending to whisper. “Not to be loud or anything, but I’m the best among these guys.”

“Oh stop bragging, Oluo. You’re the clumsiest of us all, always accidentally biting your tongue and all that.” The woman with ginger hair and brown eyes, Petra Ral, commented. You thought that she has such kind eyes.

“Tch. What a jealous brat you are, Ral.”

Petra made a look of disgust. “Are you trying to sound like the Captain again? Please stop…”

You eyed Oluo more closely, saw the cravat and undercut, and realized that he _was_ trying to resemble the Captain.

“That’s your version of Levi? Petra’s right, Oluo. You sound funny.” You said with air puffing out of your nose.

They stared at you — even Eld Jinn and Gunther Schultz who seemed to be minding their business just a few seconds ago — looking startled.

“What?” You’re confused at their reaction. Surely what you said wasn’t offensive? After all, you had only agreed with Petra.

“It’s just… you said the Captain’s name… so casually,” Petra replied meekly.

Your right hand flew to your mouth as soon as you understood your mistake.

“Oh! Sorry,” You laughed nervously. “I guess I’m still adjusting.”

A small awkward silence followed. You wished someone would start speaking already. You didn’t know what topic to bring up since you had just met them. And you also didn’t want to get on their bad side. Thankfully, Eld opened room for conversation again by talking about the expedition that was set to happen soon.

Leaning on one of the trees in the training grounds, the sound of footsteps approaching from behind you breaks you out of your reflection of last night’s dinner with the Special Ops Squad.

Today’s your first day of training with Captain Levi. Not _with_ him, really. More like you’re going to train and he’s going to deem if your skills are up to par, although you're more than sure he’s going to berate your ass. ‘Supervise,’ as Commander Erwin said.

“You’re early. Good.” It's 6:30 in the morning. He told you to be at the grounds at 7 am sharp, but you couldn’t risk losing any more of his favor so you chose to arrive earlier.

“Good morning. Where do we start?” Trying to sound as friendly and as nonchalant as possible, you try to pretend that whatever embarrassment left in you after he exited Commander Erwin’s office with such a bold statement isn’t creeping in.

He walks toward the tall trees.

“Titan-killing.” Damn. Cold. Okay. That’s better. At least you don’t have to worry about what happened anymore. You’re sure by now that he won’t bring it up again. He also seems to have forgotten about it already. If he hasn’t, he’s sure good at putting up a mask.

You groan when you realize something.

“Problem, cadet?” He asks without looking at you.

“No, sir.”

You were supposed to groan internally. You _really_ have to learn how to control your mouth.

You both start to zip through the trees to where you’re going to begin you’re training.

The thing is, you groaned because killing titans has always been your weakest point even when you were still part of the Training Corps. Sometimes, when you’re alone, you think that if you’ve practiced more you would’ve secured the top spot in training. You were decent, sure, but decent isn’t going to cut it in the real world. _The irony of it all,_ you thought sarcastically, chuckling to yourself. Going exactly after the very thing you’re worst at. Not your fault what you want to do is what you’re bad at.

You just have to work and keep on improving.

But you didn’t want the captain to know that.

You wished you could’ve developed your skills first before demonstrating them to him. Coming from the Military Police Brigade means your life hang in the balance, so making sure you don’t slip-up is a no-brainer.

You’re rusty, so there’s a big chance you will spectacularly fuck up. Again. In front of the captain. Again. And right when you’re supposed to prove to him your worth.

Panic and anxiety begin to show themselves. _How do I get out of this mess?_

You try to calm yourself. _I can do it. I can do it. Don’t overthink._

Once you’re both settled, he instructs you to kill as many titans as you can in under 15 minutes. You nod and prepare yourself, eager to impress him.

_I can do this._

You start moving, watching and listening for any sign of movement. Suddenly, a huge dummy appears in front of you, and you change direction in time to avoid it. You aim for the nape and slice it.

_Damn, the cut wasn’t deep enough._

You shake the thought out of your head. With no more than fifteen minutes to define what you are capable of, no extra time can be spared to think about mistakes.

No more than thirty seconds after, you see from your peripheral vision a light movement and then hear wheels creaking. Immediately to the new target, another nape is sliced, but this time, more deeply.

_Good. Now keep that up._

Three more kills later, you’re on the ground running. You’ve just gotten up after one of the branches you were standing on broke. You’re about to reel the grapple-hooks when another dummy shows up.

The most efficient way to kill it was to bring it down first, so you cut both of its heels. Once it has fallen, you rush towards the nape and bring your blades down.

Wiping the sweat off your face, you take a moment to acknowledge that maybe you were overthinking. Maybe this training _is_ going to end successfully. You start to fly again.

Right when you thought the time is up, another dummy emerges from below with arms slightly up in the air. It's too close already, and judging from your position, you’re sure your wires are going to be tangled if you move upwards. Two seconds remaining before you crash onto the target’s body and your fight-or-flight hormones take over, causing your own body to move past the titan through the small space between its arm and belly. The hooks unhook themselves from the tree you last shot them on due to the strain and uneven placing, and all of a sudden, you’re falling.

With the adrenaline rush from being able to avoid the dummy so you’re able to shoot the hooks at one of the trees. Now that you’re stable enough to move once more, you speedily aim for the titan’s nape and slice it.

You head for a branch. Your knees slightly buckle, and you pant from exhaustion. _That was tiring_.

“Seven kills,” you hear the captain land beside you.

 _Fuck, how did I do?_ Your heart is rapidly beating.

“Average score for most soldiers.”

A little smiles makes its way to your face, relieved that you have, after all, just been overthinking.

“But…”

As the ‘but’ part comes, the smiles drops.

“…you’re not most soldiers, are you? Or at least you shouldn’t be. You came from the Military Police. Meaning from the Top 10. Shouldn’t someone from the Top 10 be more than _just average_?” Captain Levi jibed in that bored tone of his.

What is his problem? Shouldn’t he be happy you passed his standards?

“You may have also brought down 7 titans, but the cuts weren’t deep enough. Shadis may have approved of your results, but I don’t. Erwin doesn’t. Hange doesn’t. The entire Survey Corps doesn’t,” he said bluntly.

 _I may have spoken too soon_.

You roll your eyes. What he said about being in the Top 10 hurt, but you weren’t going to let him see it. Instead, you try to lighten up the atmosphere. “Okay, grumpy,” you tease. “You’ve made your point. I get it. You can stop with the naming now.”

You suppose that since no one is watching, you could at least drop _some_ of the formalities. You’re careful not to cross any lines, though.

He huffs, eyes narrowing at you for calling him ‘grumpy’, but he doesn’t reprimand you for it.

You beam.

“Hey, show me how _you_ kill the titans!” You nudge him, feeling a little more relaxed now that he didn’t scold you.

“No.”

You aren’t giving up that easily.

“Come on! Like your own way, if you have that. Most people have their own style so maybe—”

“Fine, woman. Now stop talking. You’re giving me a damn headache. You might even be worse than shitty-eyes.”

You grin.

He shouts to one of the soldiers who is in-charge of the dummy titans to put one up for him. Steel cables shoot out almost instantly after a large figure surfaces. He moves really fast, using a heavy amount of gas. He moves upward— _really upward_ and you wonder why he needs so much momentum. You question is answered when he spins just as he’s about to plunge his blades. You also notice that he has unexpectedly changed the way he grips his right sword.

In one smooth motion, he drives the blades into the titan’s nape. When he goes back to where you are, you’re dumbfounded. You close your mouth when you notice him glaring. You had expected him to be good, but you didn’t know he’s _this_ good.

Suddenly you feel fired up.

“You HAVE to teach me that technique!” You say like a kid, still in awe of that unusual fighting stance.

“No.”

“Come on! I can handle it.” You aren’t going take no for an answer.

“No.”

“Give me a few minutes! Teach me right now. If I don’t get it in a few minutes…well…you’re just gonna have to teach me until I get it!” You joke loudly.

He begins to walk away.

You put your hands up. You really want to learn how to do it.

“Okay, fine, fine! If I don’t get it in a few minutes you don’t have to teach it to me ever again.”

He sighs. You’re so stubborn.

 _There is no stopping you, is there?_ He thought.

He turns back, and your smile reaches your ears.

You’re startled when he goes behind you and moves to you very closely.

_What’s happening?_

“Are you gonna stand all day or what? Grab your blades.”

“Oh!” You chuckle nervously. _Of course. What was I thinking?_

“You do this…” He shifts your stance, and adjusts the way you hold your right sword so that you’re holding now it backhanded, with the blade sticking out.

He moves to the left so the blade doesn’t touch him.

You lose a bit of your balance as you try to familiarize yourself with the new position.

“Keep this steady.” His lips are close to your ears. He holds your hips.

Your breath hitches.

You aren’t prepared for this kind of close contact.

“…and then you do this,” he breathes. His hands are again on yours, and he’s directing you how to move them. Your swords swish in the air. And you smell traces of his scent.

His scent should be the least of your concerns right now. True, he smells great and—God, pull yourself together.

“Got it?” His breath tickles your face.

“Y-yeah.” You eyes move sideways to look at him. You tilt your head but only a little, afraid that if you move too much you’d hit his head. Or your lips would hit something else.

_Stop getting distracted, you idiot._

When you move your eyes, you catch him also looking at you. You avert yours quickly. _What are you, a schoolgirl? You’re a grown ass woman. Act like one._

“Good. Now do it.” He moves away, eyes as stoic as ever, as if nothing happened.

Technically _,_ nothing did.

The dummy he “killed” a while ago is still standing up, so you head for that one. You execute the reverse-grip technique perfectly onto the space right below where the captain aimed for minutes ago.

“Hey! I did it! I did it!” You point to the fresh, deep mark.

“Told you I could do it!” You walk towards him giddily. You look back at the dummy again, satisfied.

You hear something. Did he just make a small _laugh_? When you look at him though, his face was devoid of any emotion that proves what you heard. You start to wander if you’re imagining things.

“Tch. Then have another go at killing the dummies.”

You groaned loudly. _Not again_. You’re tired, to say the least. Turns out Captain Levi’s method of killing use up way more energy.

And also, your mind is worn-out. From whatever just happened when he was teaching you.

“Move your ass.” You hear him say. He’s a few feet ahead of you, and you jog to catch up to him. You both make your way a different part of the training place.

“Go.” Captain Levi leaves you to take on more dummies.

You shake off the bundle of nerves. You need to focus. You did an okay job a while ago, and now you need to do better. He just taught you one of his moves, so you try to make sure you do it along the process.

You start to move through the trees.

Random bursts of what happened a while ago run through your mind without warning. You keep thinking about it that you don’t see the titan coming up.

“Oh, shit!” You nearly bumped into the dummy. Luckily, you were able to latch the hooks on another tree. You turn back around and head for the nape.

You frown. Not that deep again.

You mentally slap yourself. _Don’t lose your brain over something so simple. How are you going to survive outside like this?_

You see an incoming dummy, and you decide to try your luck. You reverse your grip and swing your blades. It hit the dummy flawlessly. _Ha! At least that went well._ You congratulate yourself.

Flying through the trees, you try to steady your breathing. You just need to get through 15 minutes. Not that much. Not that much. You continue to listen intently for any indication of a dummy.

From a distance, you see one move up. You attempt to do what the captain taught you again. You reverse your grip again and then—

_You do this…and then you do this._

You miss the target. By a large margin. You spun prematurely, causing you to slice nothing but air. You do your best to stick your left sword at the back of the dummy to prevent yourself from falling. You plant your grapple-hooks to a nearby branch and pull yourself up. You put as much damage as you can on the nape, hoping Captain Levi is still busy inspecting your previous work.

You move forward. Once again, you shallowly cut another titan’s nape.

You clutch the handles of your sword angrily. _What the hell is happening?_

You don’t know how long has passed. Frankly, you don’t want to know. There has been too much time and too many opportunities wasted.

_I’ve got no time left to lose._

A newfound determination surges through you. You look for a dummy and one appears, as if you’ve summoned it. You head straight to where it is. You fly above it and then make your way to your goal. You think of nothing else but slicing that nape. You—

_—remember how he close he was._

And then you find yourself milliseconds away from crashing into the back of the titan’s neck. Your reflexes cause you to turn your left, making your right side absorb the impact. You desperately cling to the shoulder of the dummy and make an effort to strike your blade at the nape. Once you have, you let go and let the wires suspend you in mid-air. You know you were able to secure the hooks at a sturdy part of a tree before that disaster of a kill, so you know you aren’t going to fall anytime soon.

You wheeze, inhaling as much air as you can.

You don’t know what happened, but damn well know you’re going to be shouted at. You close your eyes.

“What the HELL was that?” the captain shouted, nostrils flaring and eyebrows almost meeting in the middle.

_Right on time._

You open your eyes and look at him, and then behind him. You don’t have the strength to look at him straight in the face. You start to space out.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Focus, cadet!” For someone who has a face that looks constantly annoyed, he sure looks _really_ irritated right now. “If you zone out for as much as five seconds in the battlefield, consider yourself titan meat.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he starts again. He must be really angry for him to say this much.

_If only you knew._

“And I don’t know how you did it, but I can’t believe you’ve managed to become worse after training,” he said bluntly.

_He’s not even going to acknowledge that one beautiful slice I made using his style._

“We’re done for now. Not exactly a failure, but I was expecting for more. Guess this really verifies how Military Police pigs work. Disappointing.” He ridicules you before leaving.

The air of friendliness around you both is no longer present.

You don’t react, thinking you have the right. With that sloppy work, you silently agree that maybe you _are_ just like _them_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is very much welcome :)


	3. Chapter 3

Ever since the incident—not the first one, the _other_ one where you suffered an unforgiving criticism of your titan killing skills—you’ve become desperate to improve. Why does an incident always _have_ to be with the captain, anyway?

Returning from your third early morning ODM training from the forest without telling anyone, especially _him_ , you see that soldiers have now flooded the area for the usual morning training. Yawns of people who woke up late fill the air.

As for you, you're wide awake. Tired, yes, but wide awake. It’s no easy feat for a night owl like you to force yourself to get out of bed two hours earlier than your daily schedule. But it’s not only your early training that’s keeping you awake—it’s also the captain's last words that keep on ringing at the back of your head. He insulted you, and somehow, some part of you believed—or maybe believes—it. And to you, it was more of a declaration to the universe of your subdued doubts than an insult.

You use both hands to slap your face as hard as you can, earning you red cheeks. Anyone within a hundred meter radius will have heard that sound, but that isn’t something you care about. You need to have that self-assured soldier in you back. The one who punched the soldiers who beat kids, the one who stormed out of her superior’s office, the one who had the confidence to walk straight up to the Commander despite wearing the badge of a hated division.

You are not like them.

You are not like them.

_Enough sulking. If you’re better than them, show it and stop feeling sorry for yourself._

_Let's get that bad bitch back._

You spend the first few hours of the morning practicing your combat skills. It might not be the first resort to killing titans, but it can be handy when you're in a tight spot. You whip out the small knife in your pocket, the one you’ve promised to yourself never to lose because it was given by someone dear to you. Then you punch and kick in the air, imagining someone was in front of you, and for reasons unknown even to know you, it was the passive face of the captain you end up imagining.

The captain.

There’s a nagging feeling somewhere in the pit of your stomach about that humiliating loss of composure not long ago. You stand up straight and stop training, chewing your bottom lip as you try to rationalize your previous—and truth be told, outrageous—behavior. The past three years must have dulled your senses when it comes to actually _feeling_ things that the slightest physical contact catches you unaware. From where you used to work—no, not the Military Police, the one before that—you’ve met different kinds of people with interesting personalities—even letting some of the better ones get _close_ to you. However, in the Military Police, most soldiers had sleaziness as their only personality. Smelling the same rotten stench over and over again didn’t exactly entice you into flirting and messing around.

_It flashed memories of a life long forgotten, but that is all there is to it. It means nothing more. Nothing more at all._

That’s what you choose to believe as you finally put the issue behind you. There is no point pondering over something so trivial and petty.

So far, no has still approached you. Not that it surprises you. You’re the new girl in school who has arrived when the year’s about to end, where everyone has separated into cliques of their own and is either too disgusted or too intimidated to talk to you. Years in the Military Police must have unknowingly cultivated in you an air of intimidation but it doesn’t bother you at all—this isn’t school. You’ve met Oluo, Petra, Eld, and Gunther and that’s enough company to keep you sane.

You're caught up in your own little world that you don't notice two people bickering a few feet from you.

A brown-haired guy who looks like he's in teens taps your arm.

“Hey, can you check who's better at fighting here, me or horseface?” he says.

The guy he's with smacks him on the head.

“Don't call me horseface, dumbass!”

“But that's what you are, _dumbass_!”

You're startled. You look at the one who tapped you and the other guy, a young-looking one too with ash-brown hair—the horseface, probably. You laugh inwardly at the nickname. _Yeah, his face shape kind of reminds me of a horse. Okay, not cool. Don't make fun of him._

They look vaguely familiar but you can't quite point out why.

“Oh, uh...” You start.

“Oh sorry! That was rude. We're from the 104th Training Corps and we just got here today. I'm Eren Jaegar and this is Jean “Horseface”—”

Jean smacks Eren's head again. Eren sends him a look and continues.

“—Kirchstein and—hey, weren't you the one talking to Commander Erwin before we graduated?”

It hits you.

So _that's_ why!

You remember now, clearly this time: Eren and Jean were the ones trying to impress the Commander just when you were about to talk to him.

“You've got great memory. Can't believe you still remember that,” you laugh.

But then you realize something. _I hope he doesn't remember the badge I was wearing._

You smile as you introduce yourself—maybe a little too tightly this time, feeling a little uneasy.

You wave your hands when they attempt to shake hands with you.

“No need for such formalities!” you gestured kindly. “We're fellow cadets here.”

“But if you were overseeing our training sessions,” Jean says, seeming to put two and two together now, “Wouldn't that mean you're a high-ranking officer?”

_Oh, fuck. I hadn't prepared for this. Quick, I need to come up with an explanation._

“Well, um—”

“And you were wearing a jacket with the Military Police badge in it!” Eren says, coming to a conclusion of his own.

You closed your eyes. Destiny just _had_ to make sure two bright people saw you that day.

_Well, cat's out of the bag now. No use denying it._

You sigh before speaking.

“Yeah, that's me. I worked there for three years. What you happened to witness between me and Commander Smith was me applying for a job transfer.”

They both look astonished.

“But I hope this doesn't change what you initially thought of me!” You add in quickly, feeling defensive, afraid that they might look at you differently now. Maybe you've put yourself in a bad light.

“I think it's cool. I was about to join there too. Means you're one of the best,” Jean replies.

Eren rolls his eyes at Jean's subtle brag.

“I think so too,” Eren adds.

You beam. Does this mean you have two more friends now?

“So are we going to find out who's better at fighting or what?” You grin mischievously.

* * *

“You guys go ahead and have lunch already, I think I'm going to shower first,” you say to Jean and Eren before making your way to your room, fatigue catching up to all three of you.

You walk towards the showers, sweat dripping from your body. It had been such a fun morning. You were in your stomach laughing at Jean and Eren as they tried to outshine each other. You even showed them some of your special moves, earning an applause from both of them.

Eren even told you he can transform into a titan.

“What? That's possible?” you said, mouth agape.

“It is. We saw him do it for a couple of times,” Jean responded.

 _Wow,_ you thought. The fact that a human has the ability wield that much power amazes and frightens you at the same time. No one had probably seen it coming.

Once you've changed into your fresh set of uniform, you spend one last moment fixing yourself before heading to the mess hall.

There's a playful skip to your step.

Your first week here may not have started right, but it sure was getting better by the minute.

You open the door to the mess hall and find heads turning and then scowling at you.

For the second time this week, you might have spoken a bit too soon.

_Why are they staring at me?_

You really don't know why.

And you don't like it.

As if somebody heard your question, you hear someone speak.

“Hey!” a voice shouts, right on cue.

You search for the voice and see that it was Oluo, waving at you.

“You didn't tell us you're from the Military Police!” he continues.

You freeze. So _that's_ what this attention is all about. _Shit_ , of all the attention you could to attract, it just had to be the wrong one. You were hoping you could keep this detail of yours remain hidden.

There are eyes still staring at you. You dart yours back and forth, looking for Jean and Eren. You can't find them. Maybe they've finished eating.

“Come sit with us!” Petra motions, noticing your discomfort. “I'm sure the captain won't mind. Right, Captain Levi?”

The squad looks at him, and so do you, waiting for his answer. _Oh no, Petra. You shouldn't have._ You appreciate the gesture, but they have no idea about what happened a few days ago. Since that unfortunate event, you have yet to hear a single good comment about you from the captain. You’ve avoided him like the plague up until now: talking to him only when necessary and when it’s time for him to watch you train. You pity the squad for the awkwardness they might have to endure, especially when he's probably still mad at you for those mishaps.

He looks up from the papers he's reading and looks at you. He seems unapproachable, but then again, he always is. He grabs the teacup and bring it to his lips, holding it by the rim—eyes still on you. After a few seconds, he goes back to reading. The squad assumes he had just given them his permission, so they scoot closer to provide space for you.

You sit beside Eld who offers you some of the food. “You must be hungry by now. It's nearly one in the afternoon,” he says.

You thank him and put food on your plate.

“How did you all find out by the way?” you're intrigued.

“Word kind of got around just this lunch,” Gunther says.

It must have been Eren and Jean, you conclude. The probably meant no harm. You suppose they're just excited to tell people because they thought it was cool. Apparently, half the cadets here don't share the same sentiment. They think otherwise.

“We were all astonished, really. The captain only told us to—OW! Stop pinching me, Petra!” Oluo looks annoyed at Petra who, on the other hand, is giving him a glare that signaled he should stop talking.

“The captain what, Oluo?” You ask, curious to know what he was about to tell you.

“Uh,” Oluo scratches the back of his head. You think he's finally understood what Petra meant so he's fumbling to make a good excuse.

It's bugging you—whatever they're not telling you, to be honest. You're about to press on when a low voice interrupts you.

“You can stop talking about me like I'm not here any second now.” The captain says in a cold, warning tone.

You all return to eating, quietly this time—thoughts about the recent issue cast aside.

* * *

You all go to the training grounds. This afternoon, Commander Erwin, Captain Levi, and Squad Leader Hange are all going to watch the soldiers showcase their fighting abilities.

You smile. _Finally, the thing I'm best at._

They group you into pairs and you're assigned with someone you don't recognize—not that you recognize anyone apart from the Special Ops Squad, really. He’s tall, a bit muscular, and he sports a classic crew cut. There’s a small scar below his right eye that might go unnoticed to the untrained eye, but not you: you like to keep a profile of your opponents. You’re both at the far end of the line, so you're sure you have some time for yourselves first.

You sit on one of the benches and spend minutes in mental preparation. This fight, right here, will determine your place here. Are you a formidable ally or an insufferable burden?

Jean approaches you.

“Yo.” He sits beside you. Looks at the soldiers fighting.

“Hey, Jean.”

“Just found out we might have caused you trouble at the mess hall. Sorry about that.”

“It's fine. It was bound to happen, anyway. At least it's out of my system, this early on.” You say back, and it's true. The worry about how people might react if the secret is accidentally spilled has finally vanished because the stares you were given were the answers you needed. And it was Eren and Jean who did all the hard work, so you thought maybe you ought to be thanking them.

After a short silence, he turns his head to you.

“So, where are you from?”

“What kind of question is that?” You have a faint clue about what he's getting at, but you pretend you don't. “We've spoken about it lots of times. Military Police, you dummy—”

“No, no. I get that's where you used to work. But where did you _really come from_?”

“Oh.”

You're feeling secretive now.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, careful not to reveal anything of importance. “I used to live with my aunt and uncle. They run this pub and I would act as the waitress along with my aunt, serving drinks to the customers. Sometimes, if my uncle's not feeling well, I'd be the bartender.”

You stop, feeling like you've said too much already. You're a tad overprotective when it comes to private matters like your family and personal background. Every day you carry in your pocket the words your uncle told you the day left their place to join the Training Corps: everything you say can and will be held against you. So while you are one talkative woman, you make sure to keep your mouth shut about anything that can be used to put you in any sort of danger.

“Right. But where though?”

“Huh?” You don't like where this conversation is going. You guess you have to keep playing dumb for as long as you can.

“This pub of yours. Where?”

Damn this kid is sharp. He's not letting you get away, is he?

“It's—”

You're saved just in the nick of time when Squad Leader Hange calls your name.

“It’s show time!” she shouts, thrilled to see what kind of strength you bring to the Corps. She looks at you the same way she looks at titans: with excitement and curiosity.

You jump up, eager for the conversation to end.

“Oops. Gotta go,” you smile, stumbling a little as you head to the center of the grounds.

Once you get to where you were instructed to go, you see that your partner is already in his fighting stance.

You look around and discover that many people are watching. Like Hange, they all want to know how this will turn out. How someone from the Military Police, the division they have bad blood with, will act. Will fight. They want to know what you're capable of.

You pull your game face on.

_Alright._

You breathe deeply once, then twice.

_I'll show you what I've got._

You taunt your opponent, knowing better than to attack first. He's certainly bigger than you, so you need him to move first or else he's just going to seize you. You can use your small frame and fast feet to catch him off guard.

You continue to circle each other.

He launches his fist at you and you immediately dock. Rookie move. You punch him in the stomach and he didn't budge. You laugh at your naivety. Not that you had expected that to work, stupidity just got the better of you. He grabs your hair punches you in the face.

_That hurt!_

The sting tells you that a bruise will form in a matter of hours. Still holding you by the hair, he moves your head to the side and whacks your other cheek. You hear a few snickers, and a few snickers is all it takes to jolt you in to action.

_Enough games._

You use all your might to swat his arm away using your elbow. You give him a good blow in the jaw and he loses some of his balance. That's better. He proceeds to kick you and you use your right arm to stop it from landing on your face, his feet millimeters from your cheek. Using both arms, you pull his leg as hard as you can, causing him to slide to the ground.

He's lying on the dusty ground and you've got him cornered. You bring your right fist up but you stop midway, frowning. There is no reason to hurt him any more than necessary, as you're pretty confident you've won by now. You may be an excellent fighter, but bloodlust never appealed to you. You decide to flip him over and bring his wrists together. You put your lower leg over them to prevent him from moving any further and you press your arm at the back of his neck.

You hear Hange clap heartily and then write speedily on the notebook she’s carrying as if she’s deduced something remarkable about you. It's over. You won. You smile, feeling pleased with your work. You didn't even break a sweat.

Actually, you _did_ , but you've encountered tougher guys than him.

“Next time, don't hold back. That's what's going to get you killed.”

You spin around at the sound of the cool, familiar voice.

Captain Levi. You didn't know he was watching. You didn't think he _will,_ considering that he’s probably still furious at you.

But one look at him and you're proven wrong.

You see that he's still irritated at you, but you've become aware that it's no longer because of your previously lousy training. He's irritated because you held back.

A different kind of bravery overwhelms you.

“Try me, then. I most definitely won't hold back.”

The soldiers look all taken aback, amazed that someone has the guts, and perhaps the insanity, to challenge the captain. And in front of people. You’re not sure if this has never happened before, but you’re quite sure that if it has, then it doesn’t happen quite often or that it ends badly. But then again, you’ve always had a thing for surprising people in the most unexpected ways, at the most unexpected times.

“Tsk. First move and you're probably on the ground,” he says, but you know that at the back of his mind, he's considering it.

You plaster a stupid, goofy grin on your face.

“Wanna bet?”

You’ve outright dared him two times in a row. Is this what having a death wish means? The cadets think maybe you’re an even bigger fool than you look, and you do, too, but only for a moment. You’ve calculated the possible outcomes: one, he doesn’t agree, and people are left wondering if you could’ve won; two, he agrees and you die trying. Either way, there’s a big chance the soldiers are going to respect you more for such a bold move, so it’s a win-win situation.

He stares at you for a good minute, debating whether it's a sensible idea or not. Realizing it isn't, he turns around and walks away.

You sigh. It was worth a try.

Turns out it really was.

He's back, this time only wearing his white polo. You see that he has neatly folded his jacket and placed it on the bench you were sitting on. He loosens and adjusts his cravat.

You gulped. Okay, you we’re kidding. You didn't think he'd _actually_ humor you and entertain your antics.

Exactly how strong years of fighting has made him is something you’ll never be able to pinpoint, but you know he is plenty strong—far stronger than any of the people here. The voice in your head says you've gotten yourself into yet again another irretrievable mess with the captain, but you aren't going to back out. Not now.

You risk humiliating yourself in front of the entire Survey Corps, but there is no way in hell you are going to let this room of earning the respect of your comrades pass. You are going to earn that respect or _you will die trying_.

_Time to show them what I'm truly made of._

You're fix your loose ponytail and position into your fighting stance, but the captain just stands there, waiting.

He's blatantly daring you to jump at him.

Obviously, he's too proud to bring you the satisfaction of him starting the fight.

This feels like déjà vu. Only a few moments ago, you were the one patiently waiting for your opponent to attack.

_Fine. Nothing's going to start here if I don't move._

You don't start with a punch. Everybody here's expecting that. Even _they_ will start with a punch. But you're not everybody, are you?

_You're not most soldiers, are you? Or at least you shouldn't be. Shouldn’t be someone from the Top 10 be more than just average?_

His words fuel you, so you send a kick to his body's left side. He catches your heel immediately, as if he knew exactly it was what you’d be going for.

The confusion you initially felt has now turned into an irresistible urge to facepalm yourself after understanding your mistake. You may have fooled everybody, but he isn't everybody as well, is he? He knows you're intelligent enough to use a different angle and strategy.

Maybe you should've started with a punch.

He pulls your heel towards and you fall to the ground, sliding to him. You scream mentally, unadulterated irritation flowing through you when he used your own move against you. He knows just the right bait to use on you. Frankly, though, there's no need for any sort of provocation. Whether he provokes you or not, you plan to go all out.

He's about to mock you for being on the ground _right after the first move_ when you use your other leg to buckle his left leg and bring him down, catching him off guard.

You quickly stand up and wipe the dust from your trousers.

You look around. More cadets have flocked, so there's a large crowd forming now—wondering what the commotion is all about.

_That's right. Look at me._

You may have shied away from the attention of you coming from the Military Police, but now you’re going to use that to your advantage. This is the right kind of attention.

The sudden increase in audience psyches you up.

You send a curled fist at his face and he dodges it, and when you send another, he blocks it. He gives you a punch of his own. It was so fast that you didn't have time to prepare. His other hand flies to your face, but your instincts take over and blocks it.

You successfully land a blow on his jaw.

_That felt good._

You're not strong enough to keep him steady if you decide to hit his groin, so you choose to elbow him in the stomach instead. He grips your right arm, but before he could drag you any further, you slide under him, in the space between his legs. He was still holding your arm when you slid under him, so he stumbled because of your pull—a pull using every ounce of energy you have. If you're going to beat the captain, there is no way you can win unless you don't hold anything back. So you don't.

There’s no second left to spare if you're going to properly execute your plan. He’s quick at turning around, but you’re quicker at using the two seconds you bought yourself to hug both of his legs and pull him down the ground. You run closer to him.

You don't flip him over and get his wrists like you did with the other soldier, because you know he can easily free himself from your grasps. Instead, you put yourself over him so that his neck was between your legs and your feet was holding his arms down.

You’re sitting on him, your ass on his goddamn chest.

You sit there, smiling widely, chests heaving from the intensity of the fight. A few loose strands of your hair from your ponytail are now hanging at the sides and you use the back of your to tuck these strands away and wipe the sweat on your forehead.

It doesn't hit you that you're in a controversial position until somebody whistles from among the silent crowd. You've become conscious, but not conscious enough to move away—still savoring this moment of victory.

But not him.

He sees you blink twice when you both heard the whistle, and he uses this moment of distraction to free one of his arms from your feet. He yanks your hair, pulling you down, and then he flips you over.

Suddenly he's on top and you're under him.

His knees are planted on your thighs and his hands are firmly holding your wrists down. You try to struggle but it's no use.

“Hey! Not fair!” you whine.

“We never said anything about playing fairly.”

You're both breathing heavily and only then when you look at him— _really_ look at him—do you realize something you’ve never noticed before: the power behind such harsh yet captivating grey eyes.

_Once again you’re reminded of a life that no longer exists._

You push away the feeling seeping into you and realize that you’re in another very, very, _VERY compromising_ position with him, but you don't budge and neither does he. Whatever this little game or contest you’re both playing, you remain determined not to lose. Maybe this silent battle is more important for the two of you than the actual fight. Unlike three days ago, you have no intention of looking away. After what feels like a millennia, he breaks his gaze and releases you from his grip. _Ha! I won that one!_

The captain picks up the cravat that has fallen beside your head and stands up.

He doesn't help you get back up, but it’s not because you expected him to be a gentleman that you find yourself wondering why he didn’t help you—no, he’s far from that and you’re one independent woman. But maybe you’ve subconsciously hoped that he's acknowledged you as a worthy opponent, because it’s what you do to opponents you respect, right? At least help them up?

But then again, he's Humanity's Strongest. If you were Humanity's Strongest, you don’t suppose you'd find anyone a worthy opponent as well.

He gives you one last order before going back to the headquarters.

“Fifty laps for your cheek and one week cleaning duties in my office for thinking you could win against me.”

Still lying on the ground, you laugh loudly. _Really_ loudly. You bewilder some of the cadets.

_What an ass._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thank you for the kudos and comments! You all warm my heart. And to the silent readers as well, thank you. You’re all appreciated just as much :) Anyway, please leave feedback and check my other Levi and HP works, thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey, you alright?” you say to the brunette girl you’re running beside with.

Sweaty and lungs on fire, you push yourself to run one last lap around the training grounds. The captain had decided to give you _fifty_ laps for challenging him into a fight that _technically_ you won. This is the price—or maybe “prize”—for your cheek, but there’s no trace of regret in you at all—you’d challenge him all over again if it meaning see the priceless reactions of the soldiers who had belittled you. It was only later when he caught you chatting with Eren did you start running.

“Yeah, this is my last lap! Captain gave me seventy laps for stealing potatoes in the kitchen,” she wheezes, making you tense at the possibility she might collapse any moment now, “Didn’t know I’d get caught!”

A minute later and you and your unnamed comrade have collapsed, your backs planted on the ground. You’re both out of breath, and the pain of leg cramps is starting to set in. The two of you have undoubtedly suffered far more rigorous punishments in your years of training, but that doesn’t make running laps less tiring or less painful.

Massaging your thighs, you look at the girl beside you and start a conversation, “What’s your name?”

“Sasha Blouse! I’m one of the recruits who arrived today,” a lopsided grin greets you, one that tells her teenage heart burns brightly and with enthusiasm, and the thought makes you glad.

It’s the first time since you got here that you’ve opened a conversation with a stranger—maybe that’s a milestone worth celebrating. Maybe life was becoming more forgiving and the Survey Corps is beginning to feel like home.

You tell her your name.

“I know. I was with Jean and Eren during lunch and they told everyone about you. And I saw your fight with the captain a while ago, which was why I got caught. Apparently, he noticed I was eating during the match. Can you believe that?”

“I can, actually,” you laugh softly, “He’s very perceptive.” The time you spaced out and he chastised you to no end popped into your mind.

The sun’s orange glow has now subsided, and both of you are left in the dark for several seconds until the lampposts flickered to life. You lie still for a minute, drinking in the peace and the quiet that surrounded you: no one except you and Sasha are left outside.

Once you arrive at the mess hall for dinner after showering, you’re greeted by the sight similar to the one you had seen this morning—with people turning their heads to look at you—except this time, almost none held a glare.

Sitting across the room are Eren and Jean and most of the 104th Training Corps so that’s where you and Sasha head. Only then do you meet Eren’s closest friends, Mikasa Ackerman and Armin Arlert, and the rest of the new recruits, Connie Springer, Krista Lenz, Reiner Braun, Bertholdt Hoover, and Ymir.

While you’ve started to become friends with them, you’re still no social butterfly: the only people you continuously talk to are still Eren, Jean, and Sasha, but now Connie has also become part of the small gang. Mikasa and Armin huddle to themselves, both looking in deep in thought, sometimes giving you fleeting looks that seem like they’re analyzing you and your possible influences on Eren. Reiner and Bertholdt are on the far end of the table with a world of their own—they don’t seem to be interested in you or the other cadets that much. Krista is only a few people away from you, but Ymir continues to hog her attention with enthusiasm that you quite feel embarrassed to chat with them.

“If only you were here a while ago,” Eren gushes, “you’d have seen firsthand how much you were the talk of the town!”

“Those moves were sick. Captain was so pissed at the noise he shouted at us for being so loud,” Jean empties his mug of water.

“Who wouldn’t? His ass got handed to him.” Eren chortles. He sure is the loudest kid among the group.

“And would’ve stayed that way if he didn’t pull such a dirty trick!” You huff, folding your arms in front of you.

Pride swells in you, hoping that maybe the issue about you coming from the Military Police has been forgotten and that you’re now considered part of the team. You can only hope.

“Maybe I could beat her,” Connie pipes in, feeling confident with his skills—he has every right to be anyway. He didn’t graduate at 8th place for nothing.

“Yeah, right, Connie,” Sasha playfully bumps Connie, a few crumbs of rice and potato sticking at the side of her mouth, “You’re telling me you can singlehandedly hold down the captain as well?”

Amused at Connie’s brazenness, you decide to humor him. “Maybe he can. Why don’t we test that theory of yours some time, huh? What do you say?”

“That’s a deal!” Connie shakes his hand with yours, his eyes and yours both glinting with excitement.

It doesn’t sit well with Jean and Eren for only Connie to be getting the spotlight.

“Oi, now I ain’t letting Connie be the only to have a match with you!”

“If horseface is in, then I’m in too!”

“What about you, Sasha?” you ask her, the guys eager to know her answer.

“Eh,” Sasha rocks her chair back and forth, and then smiles widely. “I mean I’d like to try…but I think I’d like watching you boys get owned by a woman while eating more.”

This gives you an idea. “How about this, whoever beats me gets my share of meat during dinner…”

“Go on, we’re listening.”

“…for three nights.” You finish, looking satisfied with their reactions. Now everybody, even Sasha, will participate.

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

“Now you’re talking some sense! I’m definitely in!”

The five of you give a boisterous laugh, and you place your arms over Eren’s and Sasha’s shoulders. None of you notice that the captain had been eyeing you all before standing up.

“Oi, keep the chatter down brats!” He says to everyone before walking out.

Your group looks at each other with a silent understanding, faces suppressing snickers.

* * *

When you realize your social battery draining, you excuse yourself from the table, using the fact that you still have to your cleaning duties at the captain’s office. None of them can say no to that, obviously aware, even just after their first day, that the captain has some serious obsession when it comes to proper hygiene.

In truth, there is thirty minutes left before you’re needed at his office, but you suppose you can use that time to stroll around the headquarters first. Fifteen minutes into exploring the place and you hear an angry shout from the Commander’s office.

“No, you’re not putting the lives of new recruits on the fucking line again! We’ll fucking put them here, closer to fucking my squad.”

You laugh, instantly recognizing who it was yelling not because of the vicious tone, but because there is no one else here more likely to use ‘fucking’ three times in a row other than the one and only ill-tempered Captain Levi. That man and his coarse language.

“Language, Levi—” The commander says, but is quickly cut-off by the captain.

“This is why no one chooses the Corps. This setup is an attack setup, and you _know_ we’re not yet prepared for that.”

The door is slightly ajar, so you decide to move closer. From your line of sight, you can see the captain standing rigidly, eyes fixed on whatever is laid on the table. This is the most annoyed expression you’ve seen on him today, which is saying something, given that you’ve seen him annoyed him several times.

“If you give a shit about your soldiers, then at least make the arrangement stable enough to protect both young and old recruits,” the captain continues, and he adds another sentence in a hush that you might not have heard if you weren’t listening so intently. “Make them live long enough.”

Placing your hands on the door, you strain your ears to make out more of the conversation that’s beginning to sound more intriguing. The sudden pressure on the door makes a small creak, and you instantly withdraw your hands and back away a little. A silent prayer forms in your head—perhaps they’re too busy to notice your presence.

Or not.

“If you’re just going to stand there and listen, might as well come inside and help us.”

You don’t realize you’re being addressed by the captain until you hear your last name being called.

 _Oh, shit_. _Perceptive really is the word._

You can step inside and apologize _or_ you can run for your life and pretend you weren’t there at all. A hand pushes you inside, making the decision for you.

“No need to be shy! We’d love a fresh point of view!” The hand that was once on your back is now hung around your shoulder, the owner of the said hand being Hange.

_So all this time he knew, and she was just standing behind me?_

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” you say to no one in particular, eyes looking at the windows behind where the commander is.

_Has the universe some unspoken rule that I always have to embarrass myself whenever I’m with the three of them?!_

“There’s nothing to worry about. Levi and I are just discussing our plans for the next expedition,” Commander Erwin points kindly to what appears to be a blueprint of the plans. He’s exactly the opposite of the captain when it comes to manners.

“Let’s see if that Military brain of yours is worth a penny,” the captain says, “What do you suggest we change in this formation?”

_Crap._

Panic sets in as your eyes wander from one place to another, checking the legend box for the meaning of each symbol, observing where each squad is located, and deducing where titans can emerge. Your mind is in a state of utter chaos: you have to think accurately and you have to do it quickly. _Why am I being suddenly subjected to this?_ This is the equivalent of a class being given a pop quiz, only this time, the stakes are higher and deadlier.

The captain starts tapping his foot, getting impatient. Well, he has no right to be when they put you _on the fucking spot_ , so using the courage you still have left from your earlier fight with him, you send him squinted glance that said, “Stop pressuring me!”

You clear your throat.

“If we interchange the position of these squads,” you say, pointing to the two squares on the map and directing them to your propositioned place, “then we’re now at a high advantage when it comes to attack _and_ defense, so that means we could possibly reduce casualties.”

Hange pouts at your suggestion, and then nods in approval after she’s grasped what you’re getting at.

“See, Erwin? A fucking brat from the Military Police is making more sense than you right now.”

Now _that’s_ a compliment. You don’t mind that Captain Levi called you a brat, or that he still considered you part of the Military Police, because there is no way you’re going to antagonize him when he just told you the first praise you’ve received from him all day.

“All right, all right, I’ll fix the plans. Thank you for your input, cadet.”

“No problem, sir.”

“You better,” the captain interrupts, “Now let’s get out of here and proceed to my office so you can start cleaning early.”

You’re about to protest, but you stop midway, sensing that maybe now is _not_ the best time to irritate him, not when you’re about to do chores.

* * *

The view is a sight to behold: what, exactly, are you supposed to clean in this room? Everything looks _pristine_.

“Uh, do I really have to clean? This looks immaculate.”

“It won’t be any longer if you don’t start now. Stop yapping and start sweeping from that corner.”

He heads to his table and start working on whatever paperwork he’s assigned to do.

There are three brooms in the corner of the room he pointed at. Who needs _three_ brooms for one room?

“The one on the left is for my bedroom so don’t move that one, the one in the middle is for the floor, and the last one is for the ceiling,” he says without looking up. “And DON’T—”

“Don’t interchange any of them, yep, got that already clean freak.”

Hell, even the brooms are sparkling. Maybe you should just sweep using your hands?

Thirty minutes into silently sweeping non-existent dust, you strike a conversation. Again, without the formalities, because why not and who else would know?

“What you said about making them live long enough, did you mean that?”

He knows you’re talking about what he said to Erwin before you barged your way in. There’s no use acting as if you haven’t heard anything so you dropped all pretenses.

“If you’re asking me what I want from my soldiers, it’s that they don’t die a meaningless death.”

You puff air out of your nose, smiling a little.

“That’s good to know. That none of the people here are wasting their lives.”

The room falls into dead silence once more and you sweep again. Silence in a room with other people isn’t usually awkward for you at all, because you’ve learned to keep yourself company to be comfortable enough without speaking to someone near you unless required. And there’s no need for one right now, because you came here to clean, not chat. But there’s something in the deafening stillness of the room that amplifies your disorganized thoughts too much that you don’t notice he’s been asking you something.

“You still need to work on that spacing out of yours.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Why did you come here?”

The question surprises you, but you regain your composure—and your snarky attitude—not long after.

“Yeah, right. Don’t act like the commander hasn’t told you about me or you’ve never asked.”

“What, you’re feeling special now?” he leans back on his chair, the pen he was holding now placed in his penholder.

_Ow. That stings. Coming from you._

“I just meant that maybe he would’ve told you about someone transferring from another division, that’s all. And stop dodging the question.”

“Maybe Erwin has, and maybe I have asked, but that’s not the point. _You_ stop dodging the question.”

All right, maybe you were trying to avoid answering the question—the way you always have when you know you can’t control the flow.

“Well, I want to help huma—”

He arches an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that rehearsed bullshit.”

“Wha—”

“I know there’s something more to that.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s true, though. That I want to help—wait, I’m not yet done, okay?” You raise a finger to stop him from interrupting you for the third time. “It’s true that I want to help humanity. But I also want to help myself. All my life I’ve chased freedom, something I’m uncertain of, but the chasing excites me. The wild thought that one day I'm part of the first ones who breathe an air that hasn’t been breathed by titans. I will chase that freedom until it’s within my grasp, even if it takes me a lifetime, because when the world achieves that, I want to be there.”

There’s a slight pause after the gravity of your words finally sink in to you, and yet during the time you were speaking, you couldn’t stop yourself. These thoughts had always been buried at the back of your brain, and you’ve never dared confront them, terrified at the possibility that these might be just the delusions of a girl. But his words were the minor push your subconscious mind was waiting for, the trigger you badly needed to vomit these feelings, so much so that once you’ve finally declared it into the universe, an unexpected strength filled you like you’ve just spoken a dream into existence. The heavy weight that you didn’t know was in you until it was gone was lifted off of your chest, and you’ve never felt incredibly lighter.

“So there, that’s my answer. A very ambitious one, at that,” a mirthless laugh rises from your throat, “But every human has to hold on to something, and I am nothing without ambition.”

_And I wanted to see someone._

But that’s something you keep for yourself.

That’s a story for another time.

Nothing more is said after that, both of you yielding to the silence again after the awareness that it’s the end of a conversation. It takes a few more minutes of wiping of the bookcases before he deems you clear of today’s duties. You promptly return the supplies to where they belong, and then quietly exit the room without the knowledge that he’s looking at you from the corner of his eyes. Only when your back was turned to him and you turned the knob did he allow himself to raise his head and fully look at you.

There's a ghost of a smirk that creeps up his face, one that yells of satisfaction, but slowly, he exhales and the smirk turns into a small smile of relief.

Because you said when. _When the world achieves that._ Not if.

And he believes you.

* * *

On your fourth night at the captain’s office, you’ve learned how to keep things at bay. The last two nights since your confrontational talk had been much less tense, and it’s all because you’ve finally decided to take charge of how conversations would go. There’s only one way to make him talk endlessly without the worry of having to bump into another risky topic: ask about cleaning supplies.

“So you’re saying the brand of window spray that you’re using right now is the best one?”

“It is.”

“Well how do you know?”

“It’s the only one that’s passed my standards. Everything else fucking sucks.” He scribbles on a paper.

Making your way to him, you lean forward to the table so that face is perfectly in line with his as you read the contents of what’s he writing.

“Ha, cute! 5 boxes of sprays and there’s a little thank you note! What, are you getting a discount from the seller or something?”

“I am, and a big one at that.”

“Damn!”

“Now how about you get back to what you’re here for?”

You send a scowl, but not that you’re offended.

“Okay then,” You feign compliance, moving the broom in a sideways motion without the bristles really touching the floor. He jerks upwards when you forcefully hit his chair with the broomstick. “Up! UP!”

“THE FUCK?” He sends a sharp glare that could kill—sharp enough that it could possibly slice a titan’s neck should he ever run out of blades.

“What? You told me to clean, I AM cleaning, and you’re getting in the way.”

There’s a look in his eyes that that you can’t quite catch the meaning, so you assume that it’s him telling you to stop, but it doesn’t intimidate you.

Pushing a little further, you say, “Unless you want a small square in your room that’s unclean?”

He gives a shaky breath as if trying to control his rage, but he soon stands up and move so you can reach the spot under the table.

You purse your lips and momentarily raise your eyebrows, amusement noticeable in your eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

Once your head is under the table, you allow yourself a moment of silent laughter, careful not to shake your shoulders so much, to process your ingenuity—from the way his eyes slightly widened when you hit his chair and the way he resigned to reluctant submission because you were using something he likes against him, it was absolutely brilliant.

Halfway through getting the dust underneath, you duck a little lower and secretly swipe your index finger at the floor. Then as quickly as possible, you straighten up and swipe your now-dirty finger at the captain, and dash towards the door. Barely reaching the center of the room, he grabs your wrist and pulls it hard enough to turn you around.

“You do that one more time and I will personally feed you to the titans.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to scare you, each and every attempt getting more useless by the minute. “Yeah, right. Are we forgetting I managed to pin you down?”

“And are we forgetting that it didn’t last long?”

A look of disbelief flashes over you, irritated that he brings that up when you both know you got the better of him fair and square.

“Your face looks like it’s been shit on.”

Putting a hand on your hip, you issue a challenge, “I want a rematch. If I did it once, I can do it again.”

“Prove it.”

You don’t wait for him to finish rolling up his sleeves when you fly your fist to his face, and when he raises his arm to block it, you go for the other side. Naturally, he succeeds, and he yanks your hair the way he did last time. _I am so close to cutting my hair bald if it means you can’t do that._

You pull his collar right as he pulls you hair down, and his face is millimeters from yours. Gulping, you link your legs to his and pull them up in the air, so you both fall on your asses with a thud—his back slightly leaned to the floor, and you between his legs. He uses his elbows to prop himself up, but you stop him midway and pin his wrists so his back is a feet away from the ground and you're on your knees.

It’s uncharacteristically easy for you to be able to bring him down this quickly, so you have a feeling that he was distracted. He may have let you win or you may be actually stronger than him, but whatever the case is, the fact that you’ve got him cornered again still stands.

“If we keep doing this in front of the cadets, they might not think you're Humanity’s Strongest Soldier anymore,” you sneer, masking the jab at his ego as a joke.

A confession neither of you knew was coming escapes his lips, “I don’t give a shit about that title.”

There was no intended malice at what he said because he simply meant it the way he said it—he just didn’t think a title mattered—so it comes as a surprise to him when he feels you clench his wrists.

“Neither do I, but let me tell you one thing,” looking through his bangs, you move closer and whisper with a slight menace, “Don’t you ever underestimate my power again.”

A mix of confusion and fascination takes over him that he doesn’t immediately recognize the three knocks at the door and the sound of the doorknob turning.

“Levi I was just wondering if—”

Both of your heads turn at the direction of the voice, and you see a startled Hange, openmouthed at the sight.

“—oh. Wondering if you’re free so you can join me and Erwin discuss the revised battle plans, but I see that your night is preoccupied.”

Slowly, she backs away and begin to close the door, but the captain speaks.

“No, I’ll come.”

“Sorry,” you say, quickly moving to the side so you can both stand up. There’s a gentle look in your face again as you smooth your creased uniform, as if seconds ago you weren’t trying to assert dominance.

He leaves the room with Hange, but not before instructing you to tidy the mess you’ve caused during the rematch—which was nothing, if you’re being honest.

Walking to Erwin’s office, Hange talks about the possible revisions to the expedition plans. Not until did she mention your name was she able to catch his attention.

“I see that it only takes her name to make your ears perk up, huh?”

He looks at her quietly, so she proceeds.

“What’s going on between you two?” A wiggle of her eyebrows suggests that she’s hoping an answer that isn’t what he’s about to give.

“Nothing. Give me a quick rundown of the plan again,” he says to Hange, and she speaks again but only half the words he’s hearing register in his head. Mind miles away, his thoughts still linger at the memory of the fierceness in your eyes that he hadn’t anticipated, trying to fathom what caused your sudden agitation.

_Don’t you ever underestimate my power again._

He never has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of development, and I hope you liked the chapter! Comments are appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5

That bored tone of his.

It was that bored tone of his that hit a nerve.

His dull voice and crass words weren’t normally something to mind, knowing full well you have similar tendencies, if it weren’t for the undertone of sarcasm you’ve detected. _Was he not taking me seriously?_

Or maybe you were just imagining that. There’s a possibility that this habit of overthinking is getting the best of you, that maybe he really just didn’t care about whether he’s called Humanity’s Strongest Soldier or not, but to say that there might be some truth to your assumption isn’t a stretch either.

Calm down, calm down.

A good night’s rest after that incident had cleared your mind and you’ve been on casual terms again with him since then, so now’s not the time for thought to be creeping back in—not when it’s your final night of chores.

At the back of the captain’s table, you wordlessly wipe the windows after you’ve just finished scrubbing the floor, until a loud voice booms from outside the room.

“Levi.”

The captain grunts, and the person in question is revealed to be Commander Erwin.

“There’s news about—I didn’t know you have company,” he nods at your direction.

Whatever news the commander was about to deliver had been cut off after seeing you in the room, and you can only return with a meek smile and a simple, “Sir.” to acknowledge his presence.

“Please, no need to be so formal,” he goes to sit on the chair in front of the captain’s table, “Erwin would do just fine.”

The best you can manage is a slight nod at his request, still shy to be around such a prominent figure. Almost none with a power such as his from the Military Police had ever given you such respectful treatment.

“You two can flirt when I’m not around. Get to the point,” the captain barks.

A huge look of incredulity spreads over your face: what part of that was flirting? _That’s_ his definition of flirting?

Erwin chuckles with a knowing expression—the mind of this man is always a few steps ahead of everyone, and you’re left to wonder what he’s thinking.

“There’s news about the identity of the of the person who killed the titans Hange was experimenting on,” Erwin’s voice now sounds grave, “Armin, a new cadet, had some observations that matched all initial clues.”

“And you’re telling me to take the word of a recent graduate as gospel?”

“Certainly not, but if we’re going to capture this person, then we’d need another expedition after this one.”

The captain raises an eyebrow.

“I believe the person is a female titan, and she’s from the Military Police.”

_The person is a she? And she’s a titan? And she’s from the Military Police?_

“Don’t tell me this brat behind me is who you’re talking about. Or else I’ll have to throw away all my things here.”

A deep laughter from the commander fills the room, and even you thought it was funny despite being the receiver of the insult. The captain, not so much.

He snaps, “Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Erwin.”

“Of course she isn’t. But we have a lot of planning to do, one that includes a meeting with the Military Police.”

It’s not like you can cut off your eyes and pretend you don’t hear anything, so you continue to listen. Erwin seems unconcerned with your presence, anyway. And while you no longer associate yourself with the Military Police, it can’t be denied that you spent three years of your life there—a connection, no matter how minute and indistinguishable it is, has still been formed.

The captain scoffs at the suggestion. “Those bastards.”

“Frankly, their weak sense of reality is pathetic. We have no choice but to debrief them and make sure they’re on their guard,” Erwin realizes that you’re in the room so he adds, “No offense.”

“None taken.” None taken, because it was true. It’s painfully true that none of the people there, even you, have any idea of what these monsters are capable of. And no matter how confident you look in front of everyone, the fact that you’ll have to face one soon is beginning to rattle you to the core.

The next thing Erwin says is not what you’re expecting.

“And I think we’d benefit from one who just came there.”

You’ve stopped cleaning, heart halting in motion: surely he can’t mean you? But who else in this room, or in the entire regiment, recently arrived from that place?

“What? You mean me?” The murmur you’ve made is nearly inaudible, afraid you’re making not only an intrusion but also a false assumption.

“Yes,” Erwin cocks his head, “How would you like to join us?”

You take a moment to think about the unforeseen invitation, even going as far as waiting for an objection to come from the captain. Perhaps even he would say something. But he’s deeply focused on the papers in front of him, and no kind of objection arrives.

There’s nothing left for you to do but ask what kind of use you’d be able to bring. “But what can I contribute?”

“A lot of things,” he clasps his hands together, knowing just the right things to flatter anyone. His smooth, suave demeanor takes over, the one who has a way with words—the persona the captain is all too familiar with that he doesn’t bother stopping him. “By then you’d have seen a titan firsthand and you can attest to our descriptions, and you have a background on their policies so we could easily negotiate with them. That’s a big help, don’t you think?”

None, in your three years of work, has ever looked at you with such a high regard.

And he’s expecting you to survive.

“I-I-okay. If that’s what you think is best.”

Satisfied with the outcome, he prepares to leave. He gives one last reminder, “Things are settled then. This news stays in this room.” and the door closes at that.

A few specks of dust have collected at the corner of the ceilings so you grab one of the brooms, but the distraction is becoming too great to overcome.

Too many things are happening at once.

Stopping for a second, you turn to face the captain whose concentration seems to be unmatched. You plan to say something but decide halfway through against it.

Several minutes of focusing your brain into cleaning was futile. Dust kept entering your eyes, and will probably continue to do so, unless you’re able to get these frenzied thoughts that continue to pester you out. A loud exhale escapes you, and as you’re mentally preparing yourself, his visibly vexed expression prevents you from opening a conversation once more. If he’s pissed off with work, then you’ll be nothing but an additional nuisance.

Without removing his gaze from the papers, he notices your discomfort and interrupts your train of thought. “If you have something to say, either spit it out now or stop looking so constipated.”

If you weren’t feeling so conflicted, you might have laughed at one of his shit jokes again.

“It’s just...I’ve never seen a real titan before, so there’s some truth to what Erwin said a while ago, about our lack of knowledge. Any advice?”

Once it’s out in the open, you wish you can take it all back.

God, why are you asking him, of all people?

“The first time you see a titan, you will fear it.”

Yes, you definitely want to take it all back.

“Way to go, you’ve really lifted my spirits up,” you say dryly.

“You asked for advice, not lies to cheer you up, and that’s what I’m giving you,” he remarks unabashedly. “You will feel fear, but don’t feed it. Fear is only as big as you make it out to be. Accept it, control it, compartmentalize it. Do whatever it takes to not let your emotions get the best of you. If you don’t, then you’ve lost and you’re already a dead man walking.”

A shiver runs up your spine. There’s no point trying to figure out if he’s telling the truth or he’s just messing with your head, because he’s already succeeded at making your thoughts even more disarrayed than they already are. But you ask further anyway, hoping there’s a little bit of consolation somewhere along the way.

“Pretty sure those are all easier said than done, but thanks. And what do you think of every time you’re out there?”

“Remember to put humanity’s best interests at heart,” he gives you his full attention, and in his eyes are a striking look of determination you’ve only seen a few times in your life, “If you ever die at the hands of a titan, it’ll be most likely a quick death and you’ll never experience the consequences of your actions after that. Those left behind are the ones who will suffer the long term effects.”

That’s a new way to look at it.

“Nobody ever knows the outcome until it’s done. And because I’ll never know what would’ve given me a better result, I make sure what I do in the battlefield is the one I’ll regret the least. It’d serve you well to remember that.”

“Hmm. I will.” You sit on the couch and take a few minutes to internalize everything. His words aren’t exactly comforting, but they’re able to help you sort your feelings.

Humming a tune, you realize there’s a small web at the topmost corner of the room that you can’t quite reach no matter how high you jump or extend the broom. Still reaching spot with your back turned to him, you request something a little loudly.

“Hey, can I borrow a chair? There’s a...cobweb...here...that I—put me down!”

What the hell is he doing? You asked for a chair, not for him to lift you up. Lightly hitting his shoulder repeatedly, attempts of shoving him away prove to be useless.

“Quit whining. I don’t want your filthy boots on my chair.”

Dejected, you do as you’re told.

“Move forward so the dust doesn’t fall on your hair,” you mumble uncomfortably, overly sensitive now that you feel the side of his head touching your waist a little and his arms hugging your thighs.

This _cannot_ get anymore awkward.

He loosens his grip once you tell him to, but he doesn’t entirely let you go. His arms are now around your waist, faces hovering _dangerously_ close to each other. You think you’ve stopped breathing and so has he, eyes meeting with exceptionally piercing gazes.

With an unknown, uncontrollable guiding force, perhaps bravery or sheer stupidity, your right hand finds it way to his bangs and move it to the side to get a clearer view of his gray eyes.

_What the fuck am I doing, what the fuck, what the—_

The room is nothing short of intensity that gets harder to bear by the second, and as you lean forward, he does the same. God, why is this happening now, everything is coming in flashes, every single _feeling_ washing you in ripples, in huge waves and—

And then you snap out of your senses.

“I’m going to sort the files you assigned to me a while ago,” clearing your throat, you instantly retract yourself.

He drops his arms as he looks away and puts a considerable distance between the two of you. “Right.”

Sitting on the floor, you pick up the letters and folders from the boxes beside you and arrange according to the date they were processed on the couch in front of you. You’re working slowly than usual, reasonably distracted from that confusing episode between the two of you that you eventually fall asleep.

He’s noticed that you haven’t moved for the past 15 minutes. At first, he presumed you were just taking your times, but 15 minutes is _a bit too long_ to be reading them. Sensing that it’s nearly midnight, he puts on his most aloof voice—you're not the only trying to remain unaffected.

“Oi, move it. Time’s up, duties’ over.”

When you don’t reply, he walks over to you. “I said ass up.”

He’s about to kick your leg when he becomes aware that you’re sleeping.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He sighs. And then carries you. He initially thought of just letting you sleep in his couch or in his bed, but decide it’s better to head to your room. He’s about to knock on one of the rooms when Sasha emerges from where the bathrooms are.

Unable to believe what she’s seeing, she rubs her sleepy eyes one more time. “Is—is that...?”

“Where’s her room?”

“Here, with me and Mikasa, sir!” She opens the door widely as he enters. Mikasa appears to be unconcerned with the unusual situation, although she’s a little bit stunned internally.

* * *

Light enters from the windows, and you squint your eyes at the terrible glare from the sun. _What time is—_

You instantly bolt up.

_Holy shit. How did I get here?_

The last thing you remember was reading reports from past expeditions. Mikasa and Sasha are nowhere in sight, and the sun is shining brightly already, which means you must be pretty late. You’re still in last night’s uniform. Quickly you change into a new set, dashing to the mess hall hoping there’s still breakfast.

Jean’s brown undercut stands out from the remaining people, so that’s where you head after giving a wave to the people a few tables away from them—the Special Ops Squad. It’s really either them or the new cadets that you usually sit with during meals, but today you’re feeling inclined to join the latter, seeing that the former seem to be in a serious conversation with the captain.

And also because you still don’t know how you got back to your room.

You sit beside Armin who’s holding a book. His cunning blue eyes remind you of Erwin’s, and the memory of yesterday’s discussion pops in your head. It’s not only his eyes that he has in common with Erwin, but even intelligence. Maybe one day he might even follow Erwin’s footsteps, but what a morbid idea it is to even imagine that this waking nightmare will last until then. You ask him what the book is all about to shake your earlier thoughts away, and he starts to give you vivid descriptions of the sea. Listening intently, you accidentally hear a sentence from Connie.

“Sometimes I wonder what kind of tea the captain drinks.”

Without putting too much thought into it, you involuntarily sputter, “Black.”

“Did you say something?” Armin asks.

“Oh, I said black,” looking at Connie, you continue, “He drinks black tea.”

“How do you know?” Sasha comments at the new information.

“Not really that hard to guess,” you shrug, “I worked in pub. Even though we usually serve alcohol, there’s a small stock of tea reserved for those who can afford it.”

A quick apology for the interruption is what you give to Armin and he continues with his earlier talk, until Jean calls you.

“Hey, sleeping beauty!”

As you pay him no mind, he taps the space in front of you.

“Hey, hey!”

“Who, me?”

“Yeah, you, sleeping beauty. How’s it feel being carried by Prince Charming?”

Eren snorts before you can ask another question. “Prince? Charming?”

“Oh right, right,” correcting himself, Jean interrogates you one more time. “How’s it feel being carried by Captain Maybe-Charming?”

Now you’re feeling positively baffled. “What nonsense are you talking about?”

“Sasha said Captain Levi carried you to your room last night.”

“He _what_?” You choke on the bread you’re eating, “That’s a weird joke. If you’re going to prank me, at least come up with something believable.”

Mikasa speaks for the first time since you’ve arrived, “It isn’t. I was awake when he brought you in.”

Only then do you have absolutely zero reason not to believe them. Mikasa wasn’t one who liked to prank people.

As if things can’t get any worse, Sasha directs the conversation to a controversial path. “Why were you so late last night, anyway? You used to be back an hour or two earlier.”

“Did a lot of stuff. Mostly cleaning and sorting files. Guess I got...” You yawn deliberately, still knackered and mind in a haze, “...too tired being on my knees most of the night.”

It’s as if everybody except you and Connie has come to a startling epiphany with the way the table has become silent.

Feeling astonished at this unexpected reaction, you turn to look at them, “What?”

“Nothing. We just love how you phrase it,” Jean cracks up, obviously trying to suppress his laughter, “We’re sure it must have been _tiring_ being on your knees at the captain’s office,”

Connie scratches his head, feeling just as clueless as you do. “Yeah, guys, I don’t get it!”

“Come on, you can do it. Even you, Connie. Say it again, slowly.”

A few seconds later and Connie erupts into an uncontrollable laughter that echoes through the room, leaving you the only person still in the dark. How the fuck does he, someone years younger than you are, get it and you don’t?

“On my knees...last night...at the captain’s—oh my God, what the FUCK I meant cleaning! CLEANING, YOU GUYS!” You abruptly stand up, hands slapping hardly on the wooden table.

“Cleaning other people now, are you?” The person you’ve purposefully avoided says, now behind you.

You stand up and pinch the bridge of your nose, unadulterated irritation laced in your voice. “Why do you _always_ have to be present during the most inconvenient times?”

“Not my fault that mouth of yours is filthy.”

Oh you’re not letting him get away for making you embarrassed for the second time. Swallowing hard before breaking into a sarcastic grin, you shamelessly deliver a wisecrack you’re well-aware you’re going to receive penalty for.

“Thinking about my mouth now, are we, _captain_?”

Audible ooo’s and oh’s come from the table, dumbfounded at your clever retort.

“You,” he points with a silent but threatening fury at most of the people at your table, “Two weeks of cleaning the kitchen. And you,” he glowers at you and Jean, “Two weeks at the stables.”

* * *

“I’m still sorry, you know. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew you guys were going to get involved.” You send an apologetic look to Jean, putting back the empty buckets you’ve just used to clean the stables.

“Two weeks later, and I still don’t mind,” He gives you a thumbs up, “That comeback was priceless. Definitely worth it.”

Horses have been fed, stables cleaned, cleaning supplies arranged. The day’s about to end, and both of you are burnt out. The past two weeks had included more rigorous training in preparation for the upcoming expedition, which is why you’re thankful that this misery is about to end.

Cleaning the captain’s office is far easier than this one, so much so that you’ve silently wished a few times that he’d assigned you there instead. Getting a neigh in response when you’re talking is evidently not as entertaining as the captain’s quips—there were times where you and Jean worked on other ends of the stables to get the job done faster.

But then again, if you hadn’t been assigned to the stables, you wouldn’t have gotten to know Jean more, and you wouldn’t have been able to do some secret training of your own.

Every day after cleaning for the last two weeks, you’ve made it a habit to head to the forest to practice your titan-killing strategies. This wouldn’t have been possible without the help of those who control the dummies, so you bribe them with your share of breakfast since you’re always too knackered to wake up on time. You’d kill for those extra minutes in bed. You’ve also requested these people not to tell the captain, and they agreed, but they probably told him anyway. Who are you for them to side with over the captain?

Nobody knows this secret, except for Jean. Spending hours together for two weeks have definitely made you closer that you’re practically best friends. You haven’t forgotten your best friend in the Military Police, but it’s different when you have someone to share your daily struggles with and relate to them.

Young as he may be, he’s mature for his age—everybody here is, really. When someone goes through training, it shapes them into an entirely new person. And for him and the rest of the recent graduates, not only did they have to go through training, most of them also had the terrifying experience of having to come across titans _and_ see their own comrades die at _fifteen_. And if that doesn’t change them, nothing else will.

He’s a brutally frank person, and you thank him for it. He doesn’t coat his words albeit he might get in trouble because that’s just the way he is. Sometimes it gets hurtful, but his honesty is highly valued that you let slip his arrogance sometimes. A big smack to get his head out of his ass easily resolves that.

“You going now?” He has offered to assist you before, but you politely declined.

He’s likely created a version of you that’s already superb because he’s seen you in a lot of combats, and seeing the one in the forests is just going to break that image. You can let him imagine that until you’re confident enough to show him that you’re actually who he believes you to be.

“Yeah, so I can finish before it’s dark.” Gathering your maneuvering equipment, you disappear into the trees.

* * *

Walking out of the forest, you put the blades back in its container.

You’ve done pretty well today, if you say so yourself. Not only were you able to slice all napes, you were able to execute them properly and deeply. Doing that reverse-grip technique the captain had taught you required a little more practice, but you’ve also started to develop your own methods that might suit you better.

You can’t wait to slump on your bed, feeling extra tired today. Maybe you’d even skip dinner altogether just to be able to sleep a little longer, but you know Jean’s going to scold you for doing so. He’s noticed you tend to skip dinner or breakfast—sometimes both.

“How are you supposed to stand a chance against the titans if your arms are flailing weakly?” he’d say.

A small movement of ginger hair from one of the trees catches your eye, and you instantly stop dead in your tracks. Approaching the source of movement, a voice from behind you makes your own hair rise.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t know?”

Frantically you turn around, blades out, when you see it’s just the captain.

“HOLY FUCK! Don’t do that again. You scared the living shit out of me!” Putting the swords in their cases, you rake your hair, high levels of stress present in your body.

The constant strain is taking its toll on you: you’re more jittery than usual, the bags under your eyes are little heavier and darker, and you’ve lost a bit of weight due to your outstanding combination of skipping meals and doing too much cleaning and training. You’re exhausted today to say the least, so yes, you’re definitely skipping meals tonight. Tomorrow’s a day off since it will be the day before the expedition—your _first_ expedition—which means you can doze off all day.

He stares at you, and you remember that he’s asked you a question. That’s one of the effects of stress too: it’s affecting your short-term memory.

“And no, but I thought you’d have the decency not to show yourself because I obviously want to be left alone, or not ridiculed while I try to improve myself.”

“Tch. You’re my responsibility.”

“You said it yourself before, you’re not my parent.”

“But I am your captain.”

He eyes you from top to bottom, not only is it queasiness that you feel, but even confusion. He clicks his tongue, “If you skip meals again tonight, I’m giving you extra cleaning duties.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. Guess you’re eating tonight.

“What you just did today,” He heads back to the quarters, leaving you to walk a little bit briskly to catch up, “Do that during the expedition.”

Having no energy left, you decide to let him go, but not without shouting one last thing, “Okay, anything I shouldn’t do?”

He’s far ahead of you, but he says it loud enough for you to hear, “Fucking up and dying.”

The words are mundane.

The words are simple and mundane and direct. And yet despite the understanding that he’s likely saying it as a soldier who doesn’t want any unnecessary deaths, it doesn’t stop the trace of delight in your chest at the thought that he wants to see you alive.

At the back of your mind, you're annoyed that a feeling like this is swooping its way back into your heart again.

You whisper something, but it’s more of a self-reassurance than a reply.

“Okay, I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentler writing for a gentler side. Lol you might be annoyed at me for putting that super cliche lifting up scene, but I couldn’t help it (and it's just so him??), haha! 
> 
> Anyway, I can’t stress this enough and maybe it doesn’t come off in my replies, but thank you for the feedback!! They make me extremely happy and they’re very motivating ❤️ Also, sorry if the slow burn is killing you but I just really want to give basis to every character’s feelings.
> 
> Comments are appreciated :)
> 
> P.S. Mature Jean is very best friend material.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In celebration of the release of the final season’s trailer: a quick (although a bit short) update. I know the manga isn’t finished yet, but to think that this story will have to come to a conclusion is just. wow. I refuse to believe this masterpiece is ending.

The stars are brighter than usual today.

If there’s one thing you’ve adored since you were young, it’s the stars. It’s ironic, really, because it’s always the things you can’t just quite reach that fascinate you the most: freedom, stars. But even irony is something you’re fond of.

The rooftop provides you a wide view of the horizon, and it’s fortunate that there are no clouds or thunderstorms to block it. Tomorrow, at this same hour, things will be far from what it is now. Excitement and fear intermingling, this is the calm before the storm.

But the solitude doesn’t last long. There’s someone else who also finds comfort here; someone whose ritual is to spend the night at the rooftop before every expedition as a tribute to friends he loved and lost.

“Shouldn’t you be with Jean and Eren? Or my squad?”

A slight jump at the cool, familiar voice.

“You have got to stop scaring me like that.”

He sits on the ledge, a few feet away from you. And then does his classic eyebrow raise.

Ah, there’s your usual habit of evasion gone with the wind. The trick to keeping private life as private possible is learning the art of elusiveness — and in that art you were masterful. But his calculating eyes has easily caught on, and his ability to manipulate silence into his favor is a card he has up on his sleeve.

“They’re all drinking, and drinking doesn’t really appeal to me anymore. At least not now,” is what is said.

 _It reminds me of someone I used to know_ is what remains unsaid.

Something leaves his mouth, but the sudden gush of wind makes it inaudible. You lessen the gap between you two: what was once a few meters has turned into centimeters.

“What did you say?”

It isn’t only you who prefers to hide what they’re thinking. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” You can push further, but maybe not today.

There’s Orion, Taurus, and Gemini. They’re the easiest constellations to spot, and the ones you’re familiar with. If there’s anything to be thankful of in your stay in the inner district, it’s the richness of knowledge tucked away in the withering pages found in the crevices of the libraries. Reading is a privilege, and privilege wasn’t something you were born with, so it has become your form of escapism.

Tonight, stars sparkling and trees unmoving, the world is at standstill. Only you, him, and the air of vulnerability in between. And a splash of audacity on your part.

You lean on his shoulder.

He stiffens, but you pretend not to notice. One word from him and you’ll withdraw. All he has to do is say something.

But he doesn’t, so you don’t.

His steady breathing is unlike yours, erratic. A moment of tranquility follows as you try to take the beauty of it all in. The nearest lampposts have been switched off, making everything around you illuminated by the lights from above.

“Does it scare you? The vastness of the universe?” you breathe softly, staring at the sky. “Because it scares me.”

_We are nothing but specks of dust in the universe, minuscule dots wandering in the cosmos bound by nothing but space and time, mere parts in the grand scheme of things._

His brows crease. “Why the fuck are you thinking of scary things, then?”

You elbow him lightly, exasperated at his intentional avoidance — a taste of your own medicine. “Oh, fuck off. Answer me.”

“No.”

“Good. I just wanted to know.” Relief washes over you: it was the answer you have expected, and the one you have hoped.

He doesn’t seem to get your response, though, so an elaboration succeeds.

“It scares me, but my fear is overpowered by curiosity. And what my curiosity tells me is that we are all stories, the large expanse a proof that we are not alone. That somewhere, somehow, there exists a place devoid of this nightmare. Might be an untouched or undiscovered story, but a story all the same.”

How long it took you to come to this conclusion, you don’t know. It didn’t happen at once, like an apple falling from a tree. Not even overnight, no. It took years, cultivated by the people you have met—the ones who stayed, the ones who left.

Experience is great teacher, but sometimes people give the hardest lessons.

“You sound so full of hope.”

“There is no harm in hoping.”

He pauses, arguing whether he should counter you or not. It won’t hurt.

“There is. When you hope, you give yourself room for disappointment.”

When he tells you this, he is bitterly reminded of the night he spent here, in this same roof, gazing the very same sky with two different people all those years ago. So that’s why he tells you there is harm in hoping: in that night, that instant, when his friends asked him to believe in them, he allowed himself to hope.

Tonight, he tells you his cynicism. On any other occasion he would not have told you this, but maybe tonight—just tonight—he will. You’ve shown him emotions you’ve never shown anyone, and the least he can do is show some back. It might not be as optimistic as yours, but this is what he has now.

Maybe he’s insane, but even he doesn’t really know.

Not that this will happen frequently—every day is ever changing. And there’s an inkling that tells him that soon, things will drastically change.

“Maybe...but,” A twinge of ache tugs at your chest. “Better to feel something than not feel at all, don’t you think?”

It’s a mix of kindness and cruelty to yourself. Sure, love is great, excitement is wonderful, and happiness is to die for. But to choose pain over numbness were you given the option — that is the real challenge.

“If that’s what you’d like to believe.” He stops there, clearly not one to impose his beliefs on you, not when he held the ones same as yours years ago.

“It is,” and once again, it isn’t him you’re trying to convince, but yourself. Because sometimes, you can’t help but just want to stop _feeling._ “They say love is a powerful emotion, and it is, but they keep forgetting hope is just as powerful. Love ignites something in our hearts, but hope is the steady oxygen that fans these flames. Hope sustains us.”

That's just half of your ramblings, though.

_Hope is a fickle thing. It's the oxygen that fan the flames in our hearts, but even oxygen can douse fire. Hope sustains, and yet hope also hurts._

_But hope is what this world desperately needs._

It's so conflicting, but you will choose hope to sustain you. Hope, ambition — they keep you alive.

Sometimes he wonders where you get all these words. With you, the words just _flow_ , and that’s what make them so sincere. Like that time he asked you what you’re here for, and you phrased your dream with such delicate power. It was only then did he allow himself to hope again, when he heard the authenticity in your voice. Maybe one day he’d learn to do so more.

The two of you spend a long time in silence, eyes looking upward, as if able to see something beyond the skies. With you still lost in reverie, he throws you fleeting glances that you’re unaware of, and he’d keep it at that. Nothing more than that.

There’s his hand, millimeters away, and you’ve thought of reaching for it, but you don’t. Why should you?

There’s your hand, millimeters away, and he’s thought of reaching for it, but he doesn’t. Why should he?

“Many of these are dead stars.”

You snort. “Shh. I know. Just. Don’t ruin the atmosphere.”

He’s right, though. Crazy to think that there will come a time when people living a life severely different from yours will look at the same stars millions of years later.

Sitting upright, you look at him and your eyes meet for the first time tonight. Always, _always_ that spark.

The crickets have stopped buzzing, only the sound of you and him breathing soundly perceptible.

Abundant restlessness drives him to move his face closer.

But then he says, “It’s late,” breaking the tension and knocking sense into his brain and yours—late for you, but not for him. A long night is still ahead of him, thanks to his insomnia. “We need to be early tomorrow.”

As you hum in agreement, he stands up. He’s wiping the dust off his trousers when you blurt out something, your eyes fixated at the view of the training grounds below.

“Hey,” An internal war rages in your head, a side that tells you _no_ , keep that mouth of yours shut, and another one that propels you into action. “When you think of seeing the oceans for the first time, do you imagine seeing it with someone?”

A beat.

“I do.”

Another sentence itches at your throat, begging to be asked. Logic tells you _no_ , don’t you fucking dare ask, but when you’re at your most vulnerable, you’ve never listened to reason. Unable to hold your tongue, the words spiral out of control at the last moment.

“Anyone in particular in mind?”

He stands still, his back turned to you and his hand on the door, wondering if he should tell you the truth.

Each and every second passes in an agonizingly slow manner as you wait for an answer, initial anticipation dwindling and morphing into detestable self-reproach. The palm you’ve placed on the cold, hard floor curls, and a curse of regret is what you reward yourself with for the atrocious question. Again, you should’ve listened to reason.

Never meddle with things you can’t handle.

But after his own mental debate, not only is it your own company that you are left with, but also with two words that will become the new subject of your musings.

“There is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content that I originally planned to include in the previous chapter, but thought the massive feels (and their emotions) deserved to be a chapter of its own. Upcoming expedition means some action again.
> 
> Comments, as usual, are appreciated :)


	7. Chapter 7

“Is there anything going on between you and Levi?”

Hange’s unparalleled curiosity brings you out of your reminiscence of last evening’s conversation — his last words just won’t stop replaying in your head.

The day is about to begin, the mission about to commence. Citizens, some haters but mostly well-wishers, have flocked to the sides of the streets to bid all of you a fruitful expedition. Kids stand on wooden boxes, waving at anyone and everyone who passes them by. Soldiers have scrambled into position, the eyes of some painstakingly scanning the crowd as if searching for something — or someone, perhaps their families.

In an attempt to wiggle out of the situation, you try to do the same.

She taps your shoulder and repeats her question, but a bait she might bite is what you give her instead. “Why do you ask that?”

“So there is?” No, she will not bite it until you give her a solid reply.

“There isn’t.” You respond firmly. _There isn’t. There shouldn’t be._ “Where do you get that idea?”

“I saw you at the rooftop last night.”

You tense, grip on the reins tightening. If she saw you both before you had leaned on him, that can be easily dismissed it as a mere casual conversation between soldiers. “Oh, we were just talking.”

“Seemed to me like more than just talking,” she retorts, chipper than ever. “Considering that you were leaning on his shoulder.”

Bull’s eye. Can’t deny that now, can you? “And?”

“And do you think he’s the type of person to let anyone do that?”

You shrug, “No need to assume things. You could’ve easily done that.”

“Ha!” she laughs, obviously not buying your flattery, “Yes, yes, keep telling yourself that.”

“But —”

With the gates about to open in a few minutes, the captain walks up in front of you and mounts his own horse. “Hange, mind your own fucking business.”

If anything, constant evasion does nothing but fuel Hange’s nosiness. Hange isn’t Hange if she’s rapidly deterred. “Hey, Levi —”

“No.”

“I haven’t even said anything.” she pouts.

“And you,” he grumbles, raising his finger and pointing it at you, as if any and all recollection of last night has turned to ashes, “Listen to Erwin unless you want to die the minute you step outside the walls.”

In front of everyone is Erwin in his top form, delivering a speech intended to boost the morale of all people, but mostly of the Corps. The current battle formation is the one you suggested, much to your satisfaction. Your squad assignment is at Hange’s as you can’t disturb the balance among the Special Ops Squad, but your potential merits you a spot at the forefront — not only did you come from the Military Police, but your training results were also promising.

Halfway through the speech, the captain distracts you. “Now’s the time to back out.”

“Shut up. I’m listening Erwin like you told me to.”

“Put that fucking snark of yours away,” he growls. “This is your last chance to leave. If you aren’t fully ready to take the risk of dying, then it’s best to run away.”

“Oh, please. Again, shut the fuck up,” you gripe, forgetting you’re not alone with him and there’s an audience. “You say that like you haven’t given me a pep talk all those weeks ago. I’m not running away.”

A whistle comes from behind you.

Oh, damn it. You’ve just said ‘shut the fuck up’ to him in front of everyone, when you’ve usually maintained a formal conversation with him around other people. Not just in front of him, but of his squad, of new cadets, and of Hange. You, who had transferred nearly a month ago, cursed a supposedly respectable man.

The heavy stares begin to burn the back of your head. If stares can kill, you might be six feet under by now.

“If I told the captain to shut the fuck up, do you think he’ll let it slide as well or will he cut my tongue?” a cadet behind you murmurs.

“I don’t know, do you have a quarter of her strength to pin him down?” another voice says.

There’s a sly smirk in your face when you hear that.

A green smoke belches from the commander’s gun, and as he yells “Dedicate your hearts!” decisively, the gates open and you all move forward. Here’s to always moving forward.

 _This is it._ Your first time outside the walls. Your first, but not your last.

The light is blinding.

The light is blinding, but it is beautiful. Basking in the warmth of the sun, you allow yourself a few seconds to thoroughly breathe in the fresh, unfamiliar air. The massive, seemingly endless, empty space is in stark contrast to the crammed buildings in the inner district; the lush, green trees deceptively inviting. Euphoria washes over you as the realization dawns on you that tor the first time, you can _really_ move.

In a world with no walls, the possibilities are boundless.

And in it, you feel limitless.

Nothing compares to the euphoria brought by freedom.

A few feet away from you is the captain, and he accidentally notices you daydreaming. With eyes closed, lashes fluttering, you look positively glowing in the daylight, but that’s a thought he keeps for himself.

He’s about to reprimand you, but as soon as you open your eyes, he instantly averts his.

Several minutes into the forest and you’ve separated from most of the scouts, with cadets like Jean, Sasha, and Connie on standby at the entrance of the forest, not only guarding the horses but also serving as lookouts for unwanted attacks. However, the captain’s squad and Hange’s in remain together.

The earth quakes, and an enormous figure appears from the shadows.

You freeze. “Oh my God.”

It’s a titan, in the fucking flesh.

The captain hears you. “Wrong call. There are no gods here, only titans.”

Three new horrendous giants have also come from the right, and your blood runs cold. They’re real. They’re actually real. Talking about them is leagues different from seeing them firsthand. Even the most detailed description of a titan encounter is incomparable to a firsthand experience.

“Fucking hell.”

Again, the captain hears your words. “Hell is the right word.”

He was right, I _will_ fear it.

_I will feel fear, but I will not feed it._

He instructs his squad to take care of the three on the right, while you and your fellow squad members take the single one ahead. As you all circle the titan to disorient it, Hange secretly zips her way from above to its nape and plunge the blades down.

Your first kill. Technically, it wasn’t you who killed it, but a team kill is still a kill. A distance away, Gunther zigzags to distract one of the titans as Oluo and Eld cut the tendons in its heels and Petra slices the nape in a mesmerizing fashion. With their minds interconnected as a result of the strong bond forged over time, none of them says a word to each other as they work in sync like pure magic, leaving you in awe.

Finally, a true glimpse of how formidable the Special Operations Squad are. They aren’t labeled as the elite squad for nothing.

The captain, on the other hand, tackles two titans at a time with turbulence. Four hands are quick to grab him, but he’s quicker to move. He proceeds to execute his signature method with lightning speed that he appears as a blur, and steam rises from the napes.

Every time he flies, he does so like a bird, as if the maneuver gear were his wings and he was born to fly.

In the process of reassembling formation, everybody, except you, someone who has a short attention span, fail to notice the incoming titan behind the captain. Informing Hange or the other cadets is nothing but a cause of delay, so you dart to his direction. It’s impressive to see you close to him in such a short amount of time, but it’s even more impressive when he sees you kill the titan behind him with astounding accuracy using a technique that wasn’t his, but your own.

This is the product of those two weeks.

It was remarkable, but he isn’t one to praise soldiers for doing their job. Hange thinks it’s a job worth praising, though.

“That was an exciting first solo kill.” Hange’s eyes glints, charmed by your marvelous execution.

Brimming with life, you react with a big smile — the biggest you’ve yet to give. Overwhelming exhilaration is nothing but an understatement.

Catching the captain’s eyes, a wink leaves you. “You’re welcome.”

He scowls at you.

With all titans taken care of, everybody resumes to scouring the forest for possible alternative routes. Echoes of violent rustling of leaves and a repugnant smell wafting through the air alarm everyone of the presence of another monster.

“Incoming 15-meter class from the right!” a cadet shouts, ready to advance.

“I got it,” the captain addresses at you. “You know what to do.”

It’s an awfully huge risk not only for you, but also for him, to trust your instincts to be identical to his, but with time constraints, it’s the most effective strategy.

Surprisingly, you know exactly what he means. When you pierce its large eyes it emits a shrill scream, and he drives his swords to its neck with thundering force.

Everyone rivets their eyes on the jaw-dropping spectacle: with the way you and him move in perfect harmony despite the lack of noticeable signals, it is easy to conclude you’ll be a duo to be reckoned with. And with that conclusion in mind, it leaves them to wonder if you’ve seriously never met him before you transferred to the Corps.

As you all head back, now on your horses, a rumble reverberates in the forest. A 20-meter class emerges, and it’s sprinting towards you in a terrifyingly berserk manner. This must be what they call an abnormal.

He says you all can outrun them, but from your point-of-view, the chances of this are slim to none, and you’re not going to simply accept that. If the titan proves to be faster than he thinks it is and it has a companion, then everybody in his squad and Hange’s will be decimated. Including you.

With unwavering tenacity, you’ve come to the decision to take that abomination on if it means it will increase everyone’s chances of survival. Pulling the reins of your horse, you shift its momentum towards the titan. Nobody was expecting you to go after it — nobody, _nobody_ has ever disobeyed the captain before.

Not until now.

Some of the cadets begin to slow down, especially Jean, Sasha, and Connie, in order to help you, but the captain gives a cold warning. “Let her do what she wants.”

Jean opposes. “But —”

“I said no.”

That’s your choice, and he’s not going to control you. A mistake or not, you need to learn from the repercussions of your own decisions.

As the impending doom approaches, blades are whipped out in preparation for the attack. The titan lunges its foot in attempt to crush you — and it misses only by a narrow margin. The horse slides to ground, and you stagger. Immediately wires shoot out as you reel your grapple hooks at the titan’s neck, but alas, it seizes your left leg first.

A mortified look rests your face as you dangle in the air, the malignant, upside down smile inches from you, its hot, rancid breath suffocating. Desperately, you stab its right eyes, causing it to release you. With hook still attached to its neck, you soar upwards and the replaced swords sink deeply into the flesh, and the fresh cut that has opened renders it dead.

However, it’s plummeting to the ground, and so are you. Clinging to the dead body, you jump away right before it slumps to the dirt. As you scramble to your horse in a haste, a screeching, earsplitting shriek makes you tremble in fright.

_Oh fucking hell._

If the situation a while ago was horrible, it has now escalated to catastrophic. A litany of curses cascade from your lips as your initial hunches prove to be right: not only did the abnormal titan have a single companion, it has _five_ , all pairs of eyes maniacally set on your figure. Engaging is definitely not an option — might as well dig your own damn grave. Plus, the soldiers seem to have gained ample time to return safely to the gates, too.

The problem now is how _you_ are going to get back.

There’s only one way, and that’s for this horse to take you as fast as it fucking can to the gates. Brushing its mane, you recite a command that implores it to throttle at full speed.

If you’re going to die during an expedition, it will not and should not be the first one.

You can’t die now, especially not when you’ve bragged to your former superior about not dying easily in the battlefield. The thought that he’ll surely attend your funeral only to say, “I told you so.” with a smug grin appalls you to no end that you might actually rise from the dead to punch him if that happens. You’re not going to bite the dust with a bruised ego.

At the clattering sound of hooves, the gates open, and it closes immediately just as you’ve entered. Heart palpitating and breathing ragged, the adrenaline rush that has kept you moving has now transformed into fatigue.

Apparently, you’re the last soldier to come back, and they didn’t even know if you’d make it, but the captain ordered them — no, _insisted_ — to wait for your return. Ah, well, you’re too stubborn to die. And he knows that.

With the corridors nearly empty, it is easy to presume that most of the soldiers are being treated at the hospital wing. Luckily for you, scratch marks with a little bit of blood were the worst you got, so there’s no need for you to cramp the space at the infirmary even further. A little cleaning and makeshift pads from your room will do just fine.

One of the soldiers passing by informs you that you’re needed at the mess hall. “The captain said when we see you we should tell you to go straight there.”

“Right. Thanks.”

You groan, knowing exactly what’s coming for you.

“Congratulations, you managed to royally fuck up.” he lectures as you arrive.

Alone in the dimly-lit room, the captain sits on one of the benches.

“How was that a fuck up? It was calculated and I knew the consequences. I was prepared to handle them.”

“Calculated my ass. Can the soldiers you put in danger say the same?”

Biting your lip, and still standing near the doorway, you contemplate his words, thinking maybe he has a point. Apparently, though, he isn’t done chiding you.

He scolds you again, eyes boring into yours. “In the constant face of death, there are times in dire need of dangerous choices. But make sure those choices are worth it.”

With all cadets alive, your actions were certainly not futile, and efforts weren’t for naught. “Well, mine was worth it, wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t. It was an unnecessary show-off, a disappointing display of stupidity.” he rebukes.

The stupidity is partially acceptable — not that you’re going to admit that to him — but to consider it a show-off is downright crossing the line. If you wanted attention, you’d do it in the training grounds like you did before, not in the battlefield where your life is on the line. “It wasn’t a show-off, and it _wasn’t_ stupid.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t. It wasn’t just stupidity, it was borderline recklessness!”

“ _Excuse me?_ I bought the squads more time, in case you didn’t notice.”

He walks over to you and calls you by your first name for the first time since you got here — not just here in this room, but in this regiment.

“No, LISTEN! If it were a different squad leader, they most likely would have helped you, and that would have turned to a tragedy.”

As the heat of argument rises, his blames send you closer to the brink.

“And _you_ , LISTEN!” You shout with conviction, voice hoarse but resolute. “You can tell me all you want that what I did wasn’t needed, but in that moment it’s what _I_ felt I should do. It wasn’t a different squad leader, it was _you._ And I knew you’d prioritize their safety. Like you said, we won’t know which option will give us the better outcome. So maybe you’re right — maybe if I listened we would have gotten back all the same, maybe with me even unscathed.”

Accidentally recalling your brush with death makes you involuntarily shudder, and he notices, but you continue. “But it won’t change the fact that I’m here, you’re here, and all those soldiers made it back alive. Which means if I were given the chance, I’d do it all over again without regrets, like you told me to.”

Nobody, _nobody_ , has ever shouted at the captain before.

But to you, he isn’t just the captain.

He’s Levi.

He sighs, nothing but vexation evidently plastered on his face, as he heads for the door. Only you dare rise up to him, and only you know how to turn his words against him — it’s about damn time you both acknowledge why.

“If there’s one thing that’s never changed, it’s your stubbornness from all those years ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got that out.
> 
> Might have to make a weekly schedule for the updates as the requirements for my uni classes are beginning to pile up (because I keep writing instead of doing them, lol), but then again, I'm always too excited to post new chapters.
> 
> Comments are appreciated :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized parts are flashbacks.

You didn’t know you slapped him until your palm stung.

“How dare you, _how fucking dare you_ ,” you grit your teeth, “bring up the past only when it’s convenient for you.”

He knits his brows in confusion. “I brought it up because it’s the truth.”

It doesn’t make sense, though, at least not to you, because even if it’s the truth, why did he only say it now? Weeks of pretending to be strangers who only just met have come and gone, and to you, it was because the first time he saw you, he acted like he had forgotten everything — like you haven’t already existed in his life before.

“Why did you treat me like a stranger then?”

He looks at you intently, not knowing how to craft his feelings in a sentence.

“Because I didn’t think you’d want to remember.” Liar. It’s because he didn’t want to face the possibility you might be still mad at him years later. For once, he thought ignorance might be bliss. And he didn’t want you to know that. “We didn’t exactly part ways in good terms, did we?”

That, though, is certainly the truth.

“Because you — I what?” He catches you defenseless, and you stagger back a little. Of the hundred reasons you’ve thought of every night, _this_ is not one of them.

“I said —”

“No, shut up,” you raise a finger, and he narrows his eyes at you. That ‘shut up’ habit of yours is resurfacing again. “I heard what you said. I just...”

His last sentence finally registers in your head. “Care to tell me whose fault it was?” you deadpan.

An unnatural silence that hangs in the balance follows, as if his next words is about to determine the direction not just of the conversation, but of your relationship with him — whatever that is. “You tell me.”

He thinks maybe it’s a little bit his, and you think maybe it’s a little bit yours, but none of you will ever dare confess that out loud. Suddenly, the wooden floor, with all its boot marks and scratch patterns, has become such an interesting thing to look at.

“I...” You rest a palm on your forehead. “Can you leave me? I need to think.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that if he stays one more minute he might get another slap, so he opens the door, but not before putting an attitude of his own.

“You can think all you want for days in my office.”

The eyes you’ve glued to the floor now rests on his face once more. “Huh?”

“I’m giving you paperwork.”

“ _What?_ Since when did I have to do paperwork?” If there’s anything you hate other than the rampant corruption in the Military Police, it’s most definitely paperwork.

“Since you told me to shut up for the third fucking time today.” He cusses.

You cross arms, ticked off. “You didn’t seem to mind this morning.”

“That’s because you were making sense even though you were annoying.” He bites back. “Now you’re just being fucking annoying.”

“Oh, fuck you, using your powers against me.”

God, that mouth of yours has no filter.

Much like his.

“Want to make that weeks?”

* * *

Inside his office, Erwin drinks a mug of water in peace while carefully arranging the stack of blueprints on his table. Levi, ready to berate the hell out of the commander’s ass, storms in.

“Is she back?” Erwin sets the mug down, and grabs a pen to start with his work, seemingly unaware, or at least feels unconcerned, that someone is about to bite his head off.

Levi grunts, controlling his temper.

“How it did go?”

“Like the fucking disaster I thought it would be.” He lashes out and slams a hand on the table. “This is your fault. I should never have listened to you.”

When Erwin looks up, Levi cocks his head sideways, exposing a pinkish tint on his cheek. “See this? That’s because of her hand.”

Intrigued that Levi was able to elicit such a response from you, Erwin asks, “There has to be a reason. How did you tell her, anyway?”

“I said she was still as stubborn as she was before.”

Erwin roars with laughter, a hand to his stomach — sometimes Levi can be _so_ crude even without meaning to.

When Levi entered the room, he wasn’t expecting any kind of consolation, but this is just plain outrageous, and frankly, puzzling. Because what, exactly, is he not getting? He’s about to get into a fit when Erwin interrupts him.

“Of course she’d be mad.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Let’s just say, if the first thing you say to acknowledge someone from the past is an insult, they’re not going to take it kindly.”

“Well, that’s how I said it.” Levi huffs. “If this affects her performance in our next mission, I’m blaming it on you.”

On the day Erwin received your application form, he found out immediately from Levi — who immensely regretted it later on — your actual identity, and not a day has passed since then without Erwin bugging him to confront you. Why was he acting like such a father? Or an uncle? In hindsight, maybe that’s why you were put under Levi’s supervision, with Erwin conveniently ‘forgetting’ he had done so.

That sneaky son of a bitch.

“It wasn’t me who told her she was still as stubborn as she was.”

Maybe you aren’t the only stubborn one.

* * *

The first thing you do after entering the bedroom is vehemently kick your boots, failing to notice Sasha lying on her bed and Mikasa sitting on the chair beside her table. Both girls jump in surprise at such an aggressive state, and when you realize you’re not alone, they receive a profuse apology.

You lie face first on the mattress, the originally neatly folded blanket now draped over your head, as you indiscreetly punch the wall beside you. After the anger has subsided, the memories you’ve pushed back so deeply since the day of your arrival — the day of that monumental humiliation — finally drift freely back to your mind.

* * *

_A man sits alone at a pub._

_Six long, large tables, all equidistant from one another, stacked with bottles and bottles of beer, are jam-packed with loud men and women, eyes all lidded from the effects of the alcohol burning their throat since dusk._

_All six tables, except for one._

_From the corner of the room, he sits alone on a bench of his choosing, but not before wiping it and the table with a rag of his own. His isolation stands out from the rest — him and his white shirt and black pants, his hair styled into an undercut and parted in the middle, and his stoic eyes partially hidden by his bangs._

_An hour has passed since he first arrived, and his presence does not remain unnoticed to you, the woman behind the counter, serving drinks to customers from time to time. He has yet to order a drink of his own, and if he won’t, then he has to leave now: he’s stealing space reserved for those willing to pay._

_Without warning, the counter is left to the care of your aunt and uncle, the owners of the pub, as you head to him. Something clicks. He’s not just a resident of the Underground — he’s one of its most notorious thugs, every description from the rumors in perfect match to the one meters away from you. A surprising thing, to be honest, to find him here, when he has made a reputation of being a clean freak, and his supposed territory is located on the opposite side of this small, rugged town._

_“I know who you are,” a low hiss comes from you. “And I know why you’re here. The Underground is a survival of the fittest, but I don’t want any form of stealing here — we need our guests to pay.”_

_In one swift, dull motion, he stands up and leaves. Yet again, he has managed to surprise you: nobody ever told you about his unlikely calmness and compliance._

_Tonight, you fancy yourself interested in him, curiosity striking at such an ungodly hour._

_As soon as he steps outside, he's met by his two companions, two pairs of eyes looking hopeful, only for him to return a grimace. He has wasted an hour of life in a stinking pub, in search of potential targets, only to come out empty-handed._

_“One of the owners recognized me.” he curses, annoyed that his identity has reached this far. “Couldn’t risk getting exposed in front of that many people.”_

_“Don’t worry,” one of his friends, Furlan, opens his hand, revealing spare coins enough for a meager dinner of bread. “We have enough for tonight.”_

_At the back of his mind, Levi remembers not only your face but also your confidence, and he finds himself a little bit drawn to you, intrigued by your personality._

_Maybe that hour was not a waste, after all._

* * *

_“What do you drink, then?” You pull the solitary weed beside you._

_Under one of the limited trees in the Underground, you, him, and his friends sit for hours, chatting the night away. The same rag you’ve seen before is placed under him. It’s been weeks since your first encounter, and after you gave him your name when you saw him in front of your pub the night after — and you didn't know why — he’s been in touch ever since._

_One of those days you him saw in action with the gear soldiers used, and it was with great admiration that you thought he flied like a bird._

_“Black tea.” he mutters._

_A resounding laugh comes from you, and a dainty, mocking curtsy follows. His taste is too refined for the Underground._

_“The fuck are you doing that in front of me for?”_

_You ruffle his hair and then rest your back on the trunk once more, “I didn’t know I was talking to royalty.”_

_His friends, amused at your comparison, snickers. Isabel teases him, “Yeah, big brother’s really picky.” and everybody, except him, laughs._

_“Come back to the pub some time.” You nudge him, your head leaning on his shoulder. “We have some black tea there, it’s on me — but maybe not every time. I’m not rich.”_

_From then on, he’ll visit the pub more often, not for the tea, but for your company._

* * *

_“Rule one: don’t start with a punch.”_

_For a town that’s way too populated, it’s unusual for there be a damp midnight breeze. Lately, most evenings after work are spent with him in a secluded street, nothing but midnight talks and banters thrown at each other. A constant reminder to remain vigilant is the extent of care you receive from your aunt and uncle whenever you leave— you’re old enough to make your own decisions._

_Tonight, though, he says he’s going to show you better ways to fight: In your faux matches with him he’s seen how strong you are, but he believes you can be stronger._

_“I’ve won some fights with a punch.” you huff, blowing the loose strands that have made its way to your eyes. “Stop underestimating me.”_

_In the dark, dark night, lights dim and the sky nothing but a murky, cracked ceiling, only his silhouette is visible to you. But when much of life is spent in darkness, one learns to adjust his vision, and the eyes are able to distinguish even the slightest of movements._

_“Keyword: some. And I’m not underestimating you.”_

_A swish of air tells you he’s made a move, and the shadow of his foot informs you it’s a kick, but only when it was a fraction of a second before it has connected to your ribs were you able register where it has been aimed at._

_“Told you it’s better not to punch.”_

_“Whatever,” you fold your arms, “Smart-ass.”_

_From the way he grabs your wrists to the way he adjusts the balance in your hips, everything felt exquisite. It comes as a great surprise to you that someone so strong can move so gingerly, and you assume maybe it’s because he considers you to be fragile, which you aren’t._

_What he really thinks, though, is that maybe you’re too great for him to hold._

_Several days later, he sees you in the market, about to get into a fight with someone who apparently threatened you with a knife. A robust, unexpected kick flies to the ribs of the man just the way Levi did to you before._

_After the man scurries away, Levi walks up to you and plants his elbow on your shoulder, lips close to your ear, smirking, “I was right, wasn’t I?”_

_You aim a light punch at his waist. “Shut up.”_

_That’s the first time you’ve seen him smile._

* * *

_With the way the wooden counter is being wiped, it might as well shine any moment now. The pub, as usual, is noisy, unruly and definitely not to Levi’s liking, but he’s going there one last time before he has to ‘take care of Erwin’ just as Nicholas Lovof had said._

_“Stop,” he tries to catch your eyes, but to no avail, as yours never left the counter. “Look at me. Do we have to end on bad terms?”_

_The wiping continues. “Bad terms? I didn’t do anything.”_

_“Cut the bullshit. It’s exactly because you’re not doing anything. You’re avoiding me.”_

_The cloth is forcefully dropped, all kinds of pretenses forgotten, as a cutting-edge glare in your eyes meet his blunt ones for the first time tonight. If you didn’t look so busy — and so infuriated — your aunt would’ve already instructed to serve some drinks. “Well, maybe if you stopped avoiding my question —”_

_“I just have to leave.” No need to drag you into his messy business._

_The problem with people is that rarely do they ever say what they mean, or mean what they say, that everybody is almost always left in a state of doubt and confusion, and only when it’s too late do they eventually take action._

_“Suit yourself. I’m only a friend. I’m no one to hold you back.” Oh, you are so going to regret that._

_“Fine.” he replies curtly._

_In a second, he’s no longer standing in front of you._

_Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn you might have called him back a little louder, but a gentle, “Wait.” is only what you can muster, the hushed tone negligible in comparison to the loud clinking of glasses._

_What remains of him is nothing but a small silver item he placed on the counter before leaving, and only when he has stepped out of the door did you finally take it._

_There's been a longing look in your eyes since then._

_For a while, a voice has kept ringing in your head, whispering to you he’ll come walking through those doors again and sit on the bench at the corner of the room, the very same one he first sat on._

_But that night never came._

* * *

_Weeks later, a deep “Hey.” comes from behind you, your back turned away from the counter as you fix the beverages. Your breath hitches and you turn around instantly, foolishly hoping it’s who you wish it is, although it most likely isn’t._

_Surprise, it’s not him._

_Instead, a large man towers in front of you, shoulders broad, jawline defined and face square and clean, save for a mustache and a small scar in his left eyebrow. He seems unusually well-off for a resident of the Underground, thus piquing your interest._

_It began with petty little chitchats, just a minor talk on things you both hate here and some bits and pieces about yourself and himself, until one day, he poses an idea._

_“If I told you there’s a chance for a life above ground, will you take it?”_

_“Sure,” you humor him, unconvinced. “I guess.”_

_Sensing your doubts, he lifts a piece of clothing that, until moments ago, has been placed on his lap, concealed from your view by the counter that separates the two of you._

_“Whose is that and why do you have that?” you stand rigidly, pointing to the brown jacket._

_“It’s mine and I’m from there, but before that I started from the bottom too, meaning here.”_

_Ah, so that’s why he looks that way — so impeccably dressed unlike your usual customers._

_“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” you respond, moving away from him to clean one of the tables that has just been emptied._

_“Hold it right there, darling.” he grabs your left wrist with ironclad strength, and in a reflex, your right hand reaches for the small knife taped to the counter that’s obscured from his sight. Violence has never been your cup of tea — you’ve only ever gotten into fights when your life was at risk — but if he’s about to threaten you and someone has to get hurt, then better him than you._

_He waits for a while before he continues, loosening his grip once he’s gotten your concentration back._

_“Didn’t you say you want fame, glory and change? The Military Police can give you all three. And there, you can freely move,” he winks. “If you know what I mean.”_

_No, you don’t._

_“Only the Top 10 trainees can advance, but we both know we’re very much capable of clawing our way to the top. Combats can be brutal, but they’re nothing you haven’t seen here. All you have to really work hard on is their gear, but I think you can manage that.”_

_After a long silence, you eye him suspiciously, “Why are you recruiting me, anyway?”_

_“I don’t know, I see you in myself. Ambitious, hardworking. Thought I’d help a neighbor. Besides, it’s about time we also get what we want, don’t you think?” he pats your cheek and puts a big tip on the counter. “Think about it, will you?”_

_The following morning, after a long, sleepless night of arguing with yourself whether to push through with it or not, you have breakfast with your aunt and uncle._

_A hot porridge is placed in the middle of the tiny table, and as you set your cup down, you declare to them, “I’m joining the Military Police.”_

_“You will what?” your aunt chokes._

_“I said —”_

_“No, I heard you the first time,” she sets her fork down. “But aren’t you afraid you’ll get caught? You know what they do to people like us.”_

_Ah, there it is — the crippling fear of discovery people in the Underground are all too familiar with. Because sometimes, when people who aren’t supposed to be above ground are seen wandering in the streets, they get taken away. Who knows what's done to them?_

_“I do, but I’m not that dumb, you know,” you tease. “Besides, I can get you out too.”_

_She sighs._

_“You don’t have to worry about us. I think my husband and I would agree that we’re contented here. We’re not exactly rich, but the pub has kept us steadily afloat for years. Worry about yourself.” she turns to her husband. “What do you say?”_

_Her husband, who has been silent from the minute you made the announcement, takes a sip from his mug. “I say it’s your life, and if that’s what will make you happy, then do it. But be careful, and remember: everything you say can and will be held against you.”_

* * *

A muffled groan comes out of your throat as you pull your hair and kick the mattress.

From the evening he sat alone in the pub to the afternoon you overheard two fellow Military Police soldiers gossiping about an “Underground criminal called Levi who works at the Corps is branded as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier,” nothing has ever been the same.

Truth is, no matter how much your conscious mind denies it, out of all people, above ground or under, it’s always him you end up choosing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small reveal of the basis of the little details throughout the story :) Uh, forgive me for putting this in the stack of fics where MC is from the Underground, but it's the whole irony in Underground/MP setup that made me write this thing.
> 
> Comments are appreciated :)


	9. Chapter 9

In the military, much like anywhere else, the primary objective of silence during work is to limit distractions and increase efficiency. Time and time again this has worked in everyone’s favor, especially when there is always much to accomplish, but this time, not to you.

The only sounds audible in the large, spotless office are the ones of pens scribbling on papers and the ones of hands shuffling the executive orders, military tactics, and directives on future plans that lay on the table; and they have become soothing unlike the noise that’s buzzing in your head.

Because although much of them has occupied a large space in your mind, much is also taken by the person in front of you.

Three nights of paperwork have done nothing good both for you and for him, save for the fact that it has pleased Erwin to discover the Corps has been able to release almost a hundred communications in such a short amount of time. What it has done for you, though, is amplify the chaotic thoughts of that fateful day and all the days after that — the one where he has acknowledged the past but has not made mention of it since.

It’s incredibly frustrating and tiring to observe that the cycle which began on the day you arrived here is repeating itself, because again, you’re both pretending nothing had happened.

When you grab the paperweight in order to get another batch of documents to attend to, so does he, which means his hand is on top of yours. He hasn’t stopped writing, but he hasn’t removed his other hand either.

With him, it’s always a waiting game.

His hand falls limply on the stack for a few seconds after you move the object, and then he reaches for a new work of his own. While you skim the contents of a memorandum, a loud knock causes you not only to choke on the tea that you’re sipping, but also to spill a considerable amount of the searing hot liquid on your shirt.

You curse under your breath.

His eyes flit to you before he goes to his bedroom. “If it’s unimportant, come back later.”

From the other side of the room, Eren announces his presence.

“I have with me papers from the commander, sir.”

Levi mutters an indistinct insult as he rummages for something in his closet, and then instructs Eren to place the papers on the couch.

After Eren has left, you rise from your seat and head to the door, still heavily distracted, but Levi emerges just in time with a shirt on his hand.

“Oi, where are you going?”

You turn to him, gesturing at your body. “To my room, obviously to change clothes.”

A subtle pause succeeds. “Given the state of your shirt, I strongly advise you against that.”

At first his statement baffles you, because why would he advise you not to change clothes? It takes a few seconds for it to sink in that what he meant was parading around the regiment with a soaked fabric outlining your bra is not the best idea, and when it does, the expression on your face changes remarkably.

Oh, fuck.

The liquid burns your skin, but not as much as his stare does.

“Give — give me that!” You immediately snatch the offered white tee and stomp briskly to his bedroom, feeling conscious.

With his shirt on you, it’s become a hundred times harder to concentrate, if that’s even possible. Maybe if you had other people in the Underground you might not be as affected as much as you are right now, but truth is, you only had three people back then other than your aunt and uncle: Isabel, Furlan, and him.

The lethal thing about attachments is the way they happen — slowly, and then all at once, like a ripple washing to the shore, and then a tsunami surging next. Changes occur subtly yet steadily like a thief in the night, until one day there is nothing you do or nothing you see that doesn’t remind you of them. And the impact becomes shockingly palpable only when they leave, because only then do you realize you’ve unknowingly given them a piece of yourself and that they’ve taken it with them.

And him, you’ve been very much attached to.

He snaps his fingers, noticing that you’ve been staring into blank space and clutching the pen tightly. “My pen is not a fucking squish ball.”

If all these thoughts remain trapped inside, they’ll eat you alive.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking.”

“Good for you.” he comments dryly.

“You said you didn’t think I’d want to remember.” you breathe shakily, and although there is nothing more you want than to stop talking, you don’t, because a huge chunk in your heart needs answers. “But is that all there is to it?”

For a split-second his hand stops moving, and then he starts writing again.

“Obviously.”

The hesitation was brief, but it was everything you needed.

“Liar. I’m going to ask you one last time. Is that all there is to it?”

It’s always the silent anger that’s deadly, isn’t it?

“If I told you it’s because I didn’t know if you’re still angry at me,” he responds, tone blunt but dangerously low, “will that make you satisfied?”

But that’s only the beginning, because now, it’s time for the heavy, daunting truth. With the way the tension between you cuts likes a knife, the next question will surely not be well-received, but as always, curiosity overpowers fear. And this — this is not some light, trivial curiosity.

“So you _do_ know there’s something I might be mad about. Tell me then, why did you leave?”

He rolls his eyes, a thinly-veiled coldness lacing his words. “Oh fucking hell, are we still on that?”

A flash of indignation crosses your face — how dare he dig up the past only to bury it again.

“Am I not entitled to at least an explanation? I deserve that, don’t I? Considering I was the one you left behind. Give me something — anything _._ ”

You stare straight into him. “ _I am tired of chasing what should have been given to me in the first place.”_

All his life, Levi wasn’t one who believed in luck, but lately, it’s only pure luck he depended on when it comes to avoiding this confrontation. But even luck runs out, after all. Some part of him knew this was going to come the minute he told you to work with him, but knowing does not equate to being ready.

This time, there’s nowhere to run away.

“Fine.” he barks. “Someone offered me a life above ground.”

It only takes him a single sentence to jog your memory of the day someone did the same thing to you, and the uncanny resemblance is quite disturbing.

“I —” he abruptly pauses, and there’s a touch of bitterness when he proceeds, although barely noticeable in his stern voice. “— we, Isabel and Furlan included — needed to steal documents from Erwin in exchange for citizenship. And I’ve thought of helping you get yours once I got mine. But nothing went according to plan. You got mad, Isabel and Furlan died, and Erwin was steps ahead of me.”

For the first time in years, the moments relive in his head — never did he anticipate this day will come. “In short, everything turned to shit, so here I am.”

And never have you imagined a day will come where the answers you long sought for will be given to you, but here they are, handed to you right by the person you wanted to hear it from. Finally, _finally I know._

But with relief comes also grief, the inevitable realization that Isabel and Furlan were no longer alive after not seeing them with Levi for a while — because if Levi left, then they must have, too — is like a wound that’s been opened fresh again.

“I — thank you for telling me. And I’m sorry about Isabel and Furlan.” you mumble, head bowed down. “I miss them as well.”

For a while none of you speak, clearly internalizing emotions, until an unusual sound comes from you. At first he thinks you’re laughing, but it paralyzes him to grasp that what he first perceived was a laugh is actually a stifled sob.

You have never been a person of tears. In fact, even if you did cry, it was never violent — always controlled, hidden, and in passing, because life below has taught you that tears can be a dangerous disadvantage. Which is why the only proof he has is that wet blot on the paper in front of you that he knows wasn’t present earlier.

“Oi, what — why — are you fucking crying?” Levi stammers, flustered at this never-before-seen side of you. He had never witnessed you crack; that strong, confident aura of yours was too good an exterior.

It makes him wonder, then, if he ever knew you at all.

But what he doesn’t realize is that the very concept of crying in front of someone is built on a certain level of trust and security, and since no one has ever seen you cry before, it’s therefore a strong implication that he’s the one who knows you the most.

“I’m not crying.” You wipe your eyes with your thumb. “I just had to shed a ‘fuck you’ tear. Because fuck you! Do you know how much being clueless for six years has nearly made me mental? And if I had never joined the Military Police, I never would have even known you’re here. If you just told me that before, maybe we could’ve avoided this mess.”

Cheeks a little flushed, you puff them out and take three deep, quivering breaths to get hold of yourself. Then you laugh a little. “Okay, I got that out. Pretend you didn’t see that sickening outburst.”

The shift of mood is astounding; he’s in awe of the way you handle your emotions. And he thinks if that’s your definition of outburst, then you’ve got to evaluate your vocabulary. That’s definitely one of the mildest ‘outbursts’ he has seen in this place.

“No, your face was priceless.” he mocks, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Or maybe, just maybe, at the back of his mind, he wants to remember the look of hurt he doesn’t want to see on your face ever again.

You narrow your eyes at him.

It stuns him when you pick up the pen and return to your work, as if you hadn’t just had a bit of an emotional breakdown. You keep surprising him in more ways than one.

“We’re done for tonight. Can’t have you subconsciously writing ‘mental’ or ‘fuck you’ on the papers instead of a proper recommendation.” he says, not entirely sure if he’s speaking as a captain or as a friend, but he means it all the same.

Relieved at the rather sudden dismissal, you arrange your things as quickly as possible. “Is that your way of saying sorry?”

He clicks his tongue. “Are you taking my offer or not?”

You snort. “Of course I am. I’m not going to say no to an early pass.”

He nods, and you’re oblivious that as you leave your words replay in his memory, and they cause him to mull over one thing and one thing alone — he had never considered the possibility you were _that_ hurt.

When you reach your room, Mikasa greets you. She notices the shirt you’re wearing doesn’t exactly fit you right, so she makes an inquiry, and your answer is met with a subtle eyebrow raise. You hastily jump to the defensive and while she’s amused at this, she doesn’t press any further. It’s increasingly interesting that not only are you wearing his shirt, you also addressed him by his first name.

* * *

The following days have been the usual routine of titan-killing practices, gear mastery, and combat training. The 57th expedition is set to take place soon, so everyone is being pushed to the extreme. None except you, Hange, Levi, and a few other trusted people had been informed by Erwin of the true nature of the mission: an attempt to capture the Female Titan. It’s a tough job to keep such a large secret from your friends, but if news gets out, you know you’ll be marked a liability for good.

Judging from the expression of the soldiers, they’re all worn out to the core. You, who have just sparred with about ten people — your friends from the 104th Training Corps included — feel the same. You’re knackered, to say the least. There’s nothing more you want to do than to simply rest, but that is too good a dream.

Sasha approaches you. “Hey, the captain’s looking for you.”

“This early?” you lament. “I’m going, guys. I need to do something with Levi.”

“Oh?” Eren smirks, that boyish malice in his face.

You smack him in the forehead.

“Oh, fuck you, _not like that_! I meant paperwork.”

“I never said anything.” Eren pokes your side. “I was just thinking about how you’re on first name basis with him, but now that you mention it...”

“Oh, that? Something kind of happened between us.”

He smirks again, and everybody does the same. It’s _hilarious_ how you capable you are of making things sound obscene without even trying. If they didn’t know better, they’d assume you’re doing this on purpose.

“AGAIN,” you protest exasperatedly. “ _NOT LIKE THAT._ ”

“You know,” Eren breaks into a silly grin you’d like to wipe off. “It’s funny because we never say anything.”

“Stop playing innocent. We all know how those nasty brains of yours work.”

“Considering that you’re the one making all these assumptions while we’re just smiling here, who’s got a dirty brain now?”

God, this boy is such a pain in the ass that if he weren’t titan-shifter, you might have already fed him to them yourself.

You’re about to head inside the headquarters, but Jean stops you, because apparently they’re not done interrogating you just yet, and they want to know what exactly ‘happened’. Everybody begins yapping that you cave in and tell them you’ve already met Levi before, without actually divulging the part where you came from the Underground.

Sasha, unable to believe this new information, repeats what you had just told them, but much louder — practically a scream — causing Connie who had been exercising nearby to run in full speed to the group and check out the commotion.

“Wait who knew who?” Connie interrupts, and much to your irritation, Sasha points to you and broadcasts it again is so loudly anyone within a few meters will have heard it.

“SHH, pipe down! I don’t want people knowing that.” Looking around, you see that there are soldiers nearby. Hopefully, they weren’t paying attention, because you don’t want people attributing your success — and maybe future successes — to your connection to a high-ranking officer, much less a man.

“Keep those traps of yours shut,” you point to everyone, “because if I hear anything, and I mean _anything_ , I will hunt down who let it slip and stitch their goddamn mouth.”

“Yep,” Eren chortles. “With a mouth like that, no wonder you and the captain get along.”

When you reach Levi’s office, a flabbergasting mound of papers is on top of his desk.

“Close that gaping mouth and sit your ass down. If you keep staring, we won’t finish by tomorrow.”

“We’re supposed to finish all of these in _one_ night?”

“Yes, idiot, because we can’t leave anything unfinished while we meet the Military pigs.”

The mention of your former division reminds you that tomorrow will be the first time you’ll set foot on the cursed land in a while, and not as a member of it, but as a Scout. It’s also a wake up call for to at least try and recall the rules back there, so as not to be an embarrassment and most especially to be of help.

After the overwhelming amount of work on the desk enlightens you of the incoming sleep-deprived night, you retreat and leave the room quietly even before Levi can react. When you come back, Levi begins his scolding for your unceremonious exit, only to stop when he sees that you’re no longer dressed in the usual military uniform, but in a sleeping attire.

He gives you a quizzical glance, but you respond with a mere shrug and a, “What? With this much to do, I won’t have time to go back to my room.” and then finally take a seat, feeling carefree.

With the recent confrontation, all the nights that followed had been much less tense, which brings you to the relaxed silence you are in now. If anything, it has enabled you to think more clearly, because there’s one less matter to be concerned about. His reason was certainly surprising, and while it did not cancel out your prior anger, it has given you a closure of sorts.

“Do you miss it down there?” You whisper out of the blue, hours later since you’ve both started working.

“God, no,” Levi replies almost instantly, reminded of his mother and the man who had disappeared from his life just quickly as he had taken him in, causing you to laugh. “you miss that stinking sewer?”

“A little.” you allow. “Not the rats, obviously, but my relatives are there, you know.”

Remembering them suddenly makes you thirst for their care and attention; they weren’t always the best, but they were great at parenting. You’d have to visit them soon and check how they’re doing.

“I will kill Erwin in the morning for giving us a shitload of paperwork.” Levi mutters.

You yawn in agreement, eyes getting strained from excessive reading. Since hours have already gone by, dinner had been long forgotten, which means the drowsiness is heightened by the hunger. Mind beginning to become hazy, you proceed to the couch. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up in an hour or two.”

He nods, and it takes only a few seconds for the fatigue to settle in.

Only a couple of minutes have passed when it comes to his attention that if you make a small turn to the side, you’re going to completely fall off the couch — which is exactly what happens not long after. A hint of a chuckle graces his face as you scramble quickly back up.

“Take the bed. I don’t use it anyway.” he tells you, and you’re very much happy to oblige.

The last thing you think of before drifting off to sleep is the surprising quality of the mattress: its softness is unlike the one for regular cadets. Ah, what a wasted comfort.

Levi goes to his bedroom several hours later to wake you up, but when he reaches the door, he leans on its frame to gaze at you.

People change according to the circumstances they are put in, and he speaks of this based on experience. And you — you’ve definitely changed since the last time he saw you. Fiercer and stronger; still kind, nevertheless. Even your looks are different — hair longer, cheeks plumper, and overall healthier — but still that same pretty woman he’s met before, never failing to capture his attention and his interest with an intricate personality that can bite. What did he expect after six years, though, when he hadn’t even expected to see you here?

He goes back to his desk instead, changing his mind.

Maybe he doesn’t miss it down there because the one he used to miss is now right here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated :)


	10. Chapter 10

The horse comes into a grinding halt in front of an all too familiar mountain-high building, its glitz and glamour in stark contrast to the dull, overcast weather. Here within Wall Sina, ornate buildings glisten even in the absence of the sun’s radiance. Four people disembark the carriage, and collective gasps resound from spiteful soldiers as green trench coats stitched with an unwelcome insignia fade in to view.

Erwin, Levi, Hange, and you.

Given the confidentiality of the upcoming meeting, this appearance is extremely unprecedented for most of the Military Police. Unsurprisingly, none of the soldiers hold a piercing glare at the three as much as they did at you. Their prying eyes trail you like the train of a wedding gown, and you are the bride who wears the dress.

Word must have gotten out of your infamous resignation.

And yet it is with bizarre, disconcerting ease that you find your feet trotting so effortlessly to your destination, the way it had always done so, as if no time had passed at all since you left. The doors open to reveal the meeting room exactly the way you remember it: unnecessarily huge and scandalously grandiose. In the middle is a long, marble table paired with baroque wooden chairs, and above it is a chandelier that illuminates the room with white, blinding light.

Nile Dawk and three other men sit on one side of the table while Darius Zackly sits in the middle. Your eyes do a double-take as you scan the faces of Nile’s companions, recognizing that one of them was your previous superior officer, Dennis Ailbringer.

“Damn, kid, part of the celebrities already.” He cackles mischievously. “Who did you have to fuck?”

As you take a seat in front of him your face is stiff yet calculatedly neutral, although your hands ball into fists at the sides. He has always known how to trigger the fuse in your system. But two can play at a game, and since you’re no longer under his command, why not show him how well you can play it?

“Careful, you don’t want to reveal your crooked, shady ploys in front of the General Commander.”

Hange raises an eyebrow at your quick gibe — she had no idea you’re such hot waters with people from the Military Police. But with the feisty nature she’s seen you exude around Levi, your lack of fear when it comes to challenging authorities isn’t far-fetched. Erwin and Levi, on the other hand, remain expressionless.

“Listen here, you imbecile —”

“Silence. The meeting shall now commence.” Zackly interrupts, aware of the brewing tension between you and Dennis. “Erwin, say what you must.”

Erwin adjusts his coat and clasps his hands together on the table. “An enemy lurks from within the Military Police.” He begins, direct to the point. “A titan-shifter.”

“What a preposterous assumption!” One of the unknown officers, the one in front of Levi, taunts. “And who is this so-called enemy?”

“That,” Erwin looks at him straight in the eye, “we cannot disclose yet.”

The officer laughs mirthlessly, stroking his chin as sarcasm drips from his tongue. “So what are we here for? Gossiping?”

He’s forgotten that Levi is in the room, and Levi is not one to back down from an insult. It doesn’t take much for the Military Police to aggravate Levi, and when they do, they’d have to endure his contempt.

“Listen, you brainless bastard, we know that’s your specialty, but you don’t have to flaunt it.”

“Levi.” Hange places a hand on his left shoulder blade before the simmering hostilities can escalate; it’s too early for a ruckus.

The man narrows his eyes at Levi, but addresses his next statement to the Nile. “This man thinks we’re supposed to believe mere speculations.”

“Erwin, you know this absurd.” Nile asserts, leaning forward. “We cannot work empty-handed or with rumors. Rational decisions do not magically materialize out of thin air.”

Erwin makes a rebuttal. “It doesn’t take a lot of common sense nor work to be vigilant, Nile.” Erwin may be on good terms with Nile, but the lives of people are at stake and he cannot rely on friendship alone.

“Say that we believe you, then. What are we supposed to do?”

“Surely you can make the necessary preparations but proceed with caution to prevent leaks?”

“Maybe he’s just trying to rattle us. A practical joke, a scheme.” the person in front of Hange condescendingly declares. “A strategy to dismantle us from the inside.”

The one in front of Levi agrees intimidatingly. “What a load of bullshit.”

How did you survive three years with these kinds of people?

“We’re here because our utmost concern is the safety of the people,” Hange huffs, moving her glasses to the top of her head. “not yours. Isn’t that our goal? To protect them? So again,” she emphasizes. Her words sound like a plea, but the urgency in her tone implies otherwise. She’s level-headed in perilous situations, less temperamental than Levi’s in cases like these, but with the right amount of provocation, her breaking point may just be as deadly. “we ask you to cooperate.”

Turns out Levi has had enough of this derision and begins on what will soon appear as a lengthy exhibit of his extensive, colorful language. “Fucking dimwits.”

“ _What did you say_?”

“I said, dipshit, not only are you all a bunch of cowards, you’re also drooling illiterates who whine like a toddler.” Levi grabs the collar of the man in front him. “Unlike you, we’re busy and have no time for practical jokes. This brat with me,” he points to you, “has demonstrated me during her early days how incompetent you can be when it comes to dealing with titans. It’s absolutely impossible to underestimate you because each time I lower the bar, you just get right under it.”

He throws the man back to his seat forcefully. Threats and violence — these are the methods he deems most efficient in inculcating discipline, and he’s not one to refrain from an opportunity to drill it in the Military Police.

But damn, you thought, he just can’t resist using you to make a point, did he? That part of him hasn’t changed; he uses every available ammunition to tip the scales to his favor.

“Enough.” Zackly dictates strictly.

“Let’s get back to the matter at hand, Levi.” Nile comments, a shot at diffusing the situation. “How sure can we be that this is not a hoax?”

“For fuck’s sake! We’re supposed to follow a man who leads his men to death?” Dennis cuts in. He turns to Erwin. “We’re a separate branch, not under yours, so we don’t have to follow your orders.”

“Nobody said you are.” Hange responds coldly, scathingly. To many people, Hange appears as the quirky, energetic, titan-crazed scientist. And she is. But there’s more to her than she usually lets on. “We’re here to give you information so we can discuss what orders Nile must give, unless your fragile masculinity cannot handle an alert coming from the Survey Corps.”

You clear your throat and all heads turn to you. It’s time to contribute something.

“Sir,” you say to Erwin. “may I say something?”

“Do tell.”

Dennis puffs at your sudden modesty.

“We have Article 5, Section 13 of the Constitution of the Military.” A slight tremble. A momentary falter of grace under the overwhelming pressure, but you shake it away shortly. “The welfare of the citizens and of the royalty remain the highest priority of the Military Police Brigade, but they cannot refuse providing aid in the event that the Survey Corps requires it.”

Erwin concurs. After all, the only aid he’s asking is for them to be on their guard. Zackly hushes the soldiers and obligates the Military Police to follow the usual protocols to avoid raising suspicion. In addition, he has advised them to take heed of Erwin’s warning. The meeting is adjourned not long after.

The three men with Nile, however, have faces etched with disapproval, and you realize you cannot convince someone who doesn’t want to be convinced.

“We’re not taking this shit.” the man in front of Hange objects. “We don’t believe you.”

Levi doesn’t seem to care.

“Then die, you suckling pig,” he taunts as the four of you are about to exit, “and don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

The door swings to a close.

Hange, her glasses back down again, gives you a cheery nudge and applauds your earlier guts. The compliment is dismissed; it was the best you could have done in that moment. She sends you a rather apologetic look as she recalls Levi’s unwarranted criticism of your skills, and you brush it off. If you didn’t know him the blow might have been brutal, but unfortunately, you do, so the sting is a little less harsh.

Not that you’ll let him get away with it.

You excuse yourself for a few minutes in order to look for Astrid, your friend who works here.

Dusk is swiftly approaching, the gloomy clouds darkening even further as light begins to dissipate. The melodic chirp of the birds slowly dwindle into oblivion as the faint buzz of crickets and cicadas grow louder in the distance. Astrid should normally be here at the open grounds at this hour doing solo training and yet she’s out of sight.

Someone from behind you interrupts your train of thought.

“Looking for your best pal? She’s transferred to a different sector, buried in paperwork.” Dennis again. He plays with an apple on his palm. “Meanwhile, I get to lounge here.”

How he’s never been caught doing drugs and pilfering heaps of taxes is beyond you. He’s brandished it to you for as long as you can remember, and as lazy as he can be, the one thing he’s commendably responsible at is being careful enough to make sure his felonies are untraceable.

“There’s a special place in hell for people like you.”

A devilish smirk. “And I’m going to bring you right there with me.”

“I will expose your many crimes to the world, Dennis. Mark my words.”

Right on cue, a figure from the shadows of the trees emerges. When his face comes to light, all blood drains from your face. Like an invisible punch to the gut, the wind is knocked out of you.

“You’re all dead men, honey,” he gives a sardonic grin, voice deep and gravelly and filled with disdain, the way it always has been. “And dead men can’t talk.”

_Shoulders broad, jawline defined and face square and clean, save for a mustache and a small scar in his left eyebrow._

It’s him.

You’re supposed friend, supposed ally, supposed savior.

Markus Schlimme.

It’s not possible — or at least, it shouldn’t be. Thoughts erupt into wild pandemonium; too many questions need answering. But first, “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on trial.”

Markus Schlimme, the man who strolled into your pub to convince you to join the Military Police, the man who assisted you in acquiring citizenship, is supposed to be on trial.

Because of you.

“Yes, _bitch_ ,” he scorns, terrifyingly calm. “many thanks for reminding me how you dragged my name through the mud and had to spend six months in jail while I awaited trial. It took a while, but I learned how to operate from the inside. And as you can probably surmise, the evidence was weak.”

To be this near to him repulses you; you despise the very ground he walks on.

When you first met, he had presented himself to be an ordinary man who got out of the slums in the hopes of a better life. He had told you you’re suited for the Military Police, with its fame and glory, and the thought enchanted you.

It was only when you started to earn a considerable rank in the regiment did he finally reveal his true colors: he was the mastermind of one of the most wanted syndicates in the black market. Not only did he sell drugs, he sold _organs_.

To say you were immensely shocked is an understatement; you felt _terror_ seeping in your bones.

“Now I’m reinstated.” Markus resumes, pointing to his brown jacket. “You know how? Money. Power. It takes money and power to rule the world and I have both. You could’ve had them too, but your head was stuck in your sorry ass. You were lucky I helped you, you ingrate.”

“And you’re a fucking criminal, Schlimme.” you spit, blood boiling with relentless fury.

“Oho! We’re from the Underground!” he yells in a feral manner that makes your muscles tense. “ _We’re born criminals, you and I_.”

Dennis takes a bite of his apple and you earn an amused expression from him — records never did say anything about the Underground. “Birds of the same feather truly flock together. You and that scum of a Captain.”

“Don’t ever put me in your level. All I ever did, I did to _survive_.” you seethe at Markus, knowing you’re skating on thin ice. “You — you did things not out of necessity but of pleasure. You didn’t help me, you used me. If I had known you wanted me as a pawn in your twisted, clandestine transactions, I never would’ve conceded to joining the military.”

Except if you never did, you might have never seen Levi again. You remove his image from your mind. Now’s not the time.

You dig a finger in Dennis’ chest. “And don’t bring Levi into this. You know nothing about him or his past. He’s inherently good unlike you. Until people in the Underground are given a shot at life, they’re all victims of the oppressive system as much as I was.”

“I’ll get my revenge, sweetheart.” Markus admonishes. “I don’t take betrayals lightly.”

“It’s not betrayal if I never supported you in the first place.” When he had told you the date of a deal in order to gain your trust despite your obvious refusal, you reported it to the court, causing him to be arrested. He had warned most of the thugs just in the nick of time, although there were a few who became scapegoats.

A shout from a few feet away makes everyone spin around. “Oi! What’s taking you so long?”

Levi.

He seems to have been looking for you; he sees you signal him to wait a moment which somewhat irritates him.

“Watch your back and keep your eyes peeled, cunt.” Markus inches closer, giving you a low, final warning before walking away with Dennis. “If you blink so much as a second, you’ll find yourself in an untimely demise.”

Blood runs cold.

As soon as you’re with Levi, you exhale in relief. If he didn’t show up, who knows what would’ve happened next? The walk back to the carriage is silent, save for the small, “Sorry if I made you wait.” you mutter on the way. There’s something he’s been meaning to ask you ever since he saw the face of the man you were in a heated argument with, and he deems best to do it when now when you’re alone with him.

He wants to know the last thing Markus said to you.

He knows the face of terror, and he saw it on yours.

“Nothing.” you reply — a little too soon, a little too rigidly. And he notices. Of course he notices.

He presses, but you’re saved from the grilling when you reach the main entrance awaited by Hange and Erwin.

Traveling back to Wall Rose is a long, quiet, and overall plain boring journey. Nighttime is becoming increasingly evident, the last strokes of the afternoon light now replaced by the luminous glow of the moon. Feeling groggy, your head swings back and forth as the carriage moves, and you find yourself leaning lowly on the wooden wall beside you amid the discomfort — that is, until Levi sighs exaggeratedly in defeat from Hange’s incessant foot-kicking.

He moves your head so it leans on his shoulder. The rare comfort lulls you to sleep.

When you awake, you’re minutes away from the headquarters. You’re greeted by nearby shops as you open the window behind you, the gust of wind hitting you sharply in the face — a sign of an impending storm that which you don’t notice.

With permission from Erwin, you eagerly hop off the carriage to stroll along the streets. Levi saunters begrudgingly beside you, a product of Erwin’s insistence to accompany you.

“What for?” he protested when Erwin had suggested the idea. “She’s strong enough to handle herself.”

You had similar sentiments, the headquarters was now merely a 10-minute walk so there was no need but — wait, did he just compliment you? — sometimes there’s no winning around the commander.

This brings to you the store you are in now, which, truthfully, is the only place in your itinerary: the flower shop.

The first time you saw a flower, it was in the pub. Only heard in stories like a legend, like a myth passed on to generations in songs, sonnets, and poetry, flowers naturally brought out the interest in you. Flowers are hard to breed in the Underground; the entire district relies only on artificial light. It came as a surprise to you then, when one night Levi threw something on the counter, something with what were called petals blossoming in a beautiful shade.

_“There, brat.” he said. “That’s what one looks like.”_

Albeit the plethora of flowers fashioned into bouquets displayed in front of you, one particular kind catches your eye. One with small, slightly pointed petals whose color is hard to pinpoint, the way it seems blue in one angle and purple in another.

The same one Levi gave you.

The florist notices your gaze. It’s called _Blaue Blume_ , or blue flower, apparently.

“Pretty.” You touch it delicately in admiration. It might just become your favorite kind.

Levi looks at the object in question for a second and then his eyes dart to the road. And then announces. “Shit. We’re trapped.”

Looking up in confusion, his words only make sense as the large droplets of water begin to hit the ground in rapid succession.

With the flower shop about to close, you enter the neighboring cafe and wait until the rain subsides. The warm scent of the pastries infused with the soothing aroma of fresh tea leaves is not only welcoming but also relaxing. Even Levi has got to admit the smell is captivating.

It takes you a little longer to order and when you return to your table by the window, you toss Levi an item in which he catches haphazardly.

“What the fuck is —” he takes a careful examination of the item. His eyes widens. “Did you just _throw_ to me expensive tea?”

You smirk. “You’re welcome.”

“Don’t do that again, woman.” He scowls, bothered by your treatment of it. “You’re fucking ruining the quality of leaves.”

You roll your eyes. It’s not like you had shaken it back and forth enough to disturb whatever force that made tea taste like tea. “Again, a little thank you won’t hurt.”

“What’s this for?”

“Maybe a peace offering...” you chew your lip. “...for when I punched you in the arm this morning.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“In my defense, I told you to wake me up!” you exclaim. “And you were extra bitchy during the meeting, you know, which I firmly think was the manifestation of zero sleep. But thanks for letting me sleep...I guess?”

He chuckles. It’s funny that in less than a minute you’ve managed to appreciate him, scold him, and thank him.

The rest of the waiting is spent in cozy quietude while sipping drinks, only the muffled sounds of the rain hitting the windowpanes discernible. Judging from the heavy downpour and the howling winds, it’ll take a long while, if not the entire night, for it to completely cease, which is why you’ve both decided to settle for the drizzle and make a run for it.

“Might have to say sorry to Erwin...” you pant, teeth chattering and trench coat draped over your head, “...if I get his best soldier sick.”

“Come closer, you idiot. I have better immune system than you.” he pulls you closer, shoulders now touching, and places his own coat above the two of you. “I’m not taking care of a sick cadet.”

“Yeah, right.” you snort, the added warmth wordlessly appreciated. “Like you even know how to take care of one.”

The coats almost serve no benefit against the weather that fluctuates from scattered showers to torrential rain, so when you arrive at the entrance of the headquarters, you’re both drenched from head to toe. Raking a hand through his hair, he spots your peering at him.

“What?”

“Oh!” you say, blushing slightly from the chilly night but more from being caught gawking, still taken aback at the slicked back hair. “Just, you look different.”

Attractive, even.

Not that you’ve ever found him otherwise.

Despite your best efforts, you can’t stop the stare, not when his features are accentuated by the incandescent moonlight that now peeks from the clouds. God, he’s pretty.

He looks away for a fraction of a second, seemingly uncomfortable at this unwavering look you’re giving him. Only for a fraction of a second, though, because there’s something incredibly tantalizing in your eyes and the way you look at him that overpowers the awkwardness he may have felt.

Recently, he noticed, it’s never just with fierceness that you look at him — it’s with fierceness and gentleness combined.

And right in this very moment, eyes locked with you, even with the rumble of thunder and the rhythm of the rain, the only thing distinct in his head is the erratic beating of his heart that he shouldn’t be feeling.

And those cheeks of yours crimson from the evening frost do little to steady it.

What could’ve eventually happened after is left to the imagination as you lean your forehead on his shoulder.

The stare was getting too intense for you to handle, and if it lasted any longer, you didn’t know what you would’ve done.

Nor did he.

“By the way, what you mentioned this afternoon. About my incompetence.” you mumble. “I know why you did it.”

 _To prove a point._ Sometimes you wish you didn’t.

“Then I don’t have to explain myself.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll sit idly and let you do it whenever you please, though.” you retaliate, frowning. “I’ve improved since then, and I’m capable of things, too. So...” you seize his cravat to bring his ears closer to your lips and speak softly yet daringly, “...shut up and don’t you call me incompetent ever again.”

Something comes to his mind. _Don’t you underestimate my power ever again_. Back then he was left speechless, fascinated and yet unsure of what to say, but now a strange sense of dauntlessness overcomes him. Where it comes from or why he feels it he has no clue, but he’s taking it.

He straightens his back as you loosen your grip, heading inside soon after, but not before leaving a ghost of a whisper that sends shivers to your spine.

His breath tickles your ear, voice silky smooth and yet husky at the same time.

You can almost hear the tug at his lips.

“Make me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't expect to come back with more than a hundred kudos ahck thank you everyone for the support! It means a lot :)
> 
> Comments are appreciated! :)
> 
> P.S. so close!!! :>


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes canonical character death.

The air doesn’t feel right.

Despite the hot rays of the sun rousing you from the deep albeit short slumber you managed to get, there’s something about the cool, crisp morning air seeping through the open windows that doesn’t sit well with you. An eerie, unnerving aura that vigorously persists through your spirit.

Like a premonition that a disaster’s bound to occur.

So many things can go desperately wrong today. The grim idea prompts an involuntary shudder.

“...to you last night?” A distant voice hums, and it’s relatively late when you perceive her voice.

“Sorry?” you turn to Sasha. “You were saying?”

She buckles her belt around her trousers, sifting through wires and wires of ODM gear in preparation for today’s mission. “I was asking you what happened last night. Are you okay?”

Okay? Hardly. The peculiarity of the air is one thing; another is the very memory of Levi’s lips so close to your ear, his every breath practically a kiss.

_Make me._

“The rain caught up to us.” you reply as nonchalantly as your voice allows you to, wrapping the gear straps methodically around your body.

She gives an odd, knowing smile that converts into half a smirk. “Strange. Commander Erwin and Hange seemed very dry when they had dinner with us.” It dissolves eventually, substituted by strange curiosity. “You know what’s even more strange? I forgot to tell you, but the other day I saw Petra come out of our room. She told me she was assigned to ensure nobody was slacking off, but they don’t usually do that, do they?”

“That’s because Levi and I were —” with your hand raised mid-air, her final words begin to register. “— did you just say you saw Petra come out of our room?”

“Yes, why?”

“You’re positive it was her?”

“I am, what’s wrong?”

“Hold on.” A bulb lights up in your head, and you finish the ponytail hurriedly. “I’ll be right back.”

Sasha shouts, “Seriously, are you okay?” but she’s left clueless of your unusual behavior as you stride briskly towards the office of the man you need to confront.

It’s the small things that planted seeds of doubt, the ones that seemed unnecessary when observed separately and not as pieces of a puzzle, although you’ve never really bothered watering them. Now, however, everything falls into place: Petra pinching Oluo during lunch — _You didn’t tell us you’re from the Underground! The captain only told us to..._ — the ginger hair behind the trees when you were training, right before Levi had frightened you witless. The subtlety was as its finest, but the signs were present.

Staring at you right in the face.

Inside Levi’s office, Erwin deliberates with Levi the plans and countermeasures a final time. On his hand is a perfectly polished glass, the last of its contents downed upon your arrival.

“Good morning, Commander, Captain, I’m sorry for the intrusion.” you apologize, nearly skipping formalities in haste to know the truth. “I know we’re in a hurry so I won’t waste time. The Special Operations squad are spying on me, aren’t they?”

Simple and outright, the way it is with these two.

“Ah, we knew you’d figure it out, eventually.” Erwin replies without any pretense nor denial, as if he’s been waiting for this instant, offering some sort of backhanded praise not long after. “You’re too keen for your own good.”

Hardly keen enough when it’s taken you this long, though, are you?

Levi verbalizes your inner skepticism. “I thought it’d take her faster.”

You scoff.

To learn that they had told you of the mission, of the meeting, of every crucial detail despite the knowledge you were a new recruit was a _test of allegiance_ makes perfect sense. The history of treachery in the military is a long and ugly one. It doesn’t eliminate the twinge of disappointment taking root in your heart, though.

To learn that it wasn’t a matter of their trust on you but rather their trust on _them_ (the Military Police, if that’s unclear) is barely a consolation — not that you ever thought it is, anyway. It’s meant to be laid as a fact, not as a form of solace.

To learn that upon checking your background they had discovered the date of Markus Schlimme’s release to be the same as your application is the icing on top of cake. The greatest revelation of them all.

So they knew.

Unbelievable.

“You’re not high profile, but you’ve made enemies.” Levi resumes, tidying his place accompanied by the same aloof expression he often wears. “Now tell me what in the flying fuck that killing machine told you.”

Beneath his imperative tone is a fleck of worry, but it’s close to being imperceptible. Pure intentions can be easily lost in the vulgarity of words.

Sighing, you recall yesterday’s threat. “A threat. _We’re all dead men._ And I should watch my back.”

“Expected nothing less from someone as psychotic as he is.”

“So you believe me? Or at least believe what he’s done?”

Erwin stands up. “Let’s just say we’ve had suspicions already. Incriminating an influential name is never child’s play. Which means his trial was big news to us. It was even bigger news to find out the one responsible for it wanted to transfer here.”

The stench of that godforsaken military castle is revolting as it is strong, and it seems to have followed you right here.

This place is shrouded in mysteries, and one by one, they begin to unravel.

* * *

The expedition was a devastating failure.

A multitude of people harmed, of lives slaughtered, only for the Female Titan to escape right when she was within the Corps’ grasp.

As one of the carefully select soldiers tasked to enable the trigger mechanism of the snares, you were there when she screamed bloody murder, beckoning hordes of Titans into action. It was heart-stopping, blood-curling, fear-inducing.

“Humans are NOT expendable tools!” You bellowed at Levi who was on the verge of disposing corpses at the commander’s orders. Some with broken limbs, with shredded jackets, but mostly just what they are — dead. “At least give them a proper burial!”

Levi was reluctant to proceed, either — his beliefs similar to yours. You’d beg at Erwin, not caring about your pride at this hour, but he had interjected before you had even begun.

“Prayers and roses won’t bring back the dead.”

It was then you saw Erwin in a wholly different light; it’d be ignorant to assume people are one-dimensional when they are tremendously complicated creatures.

“Lessen the load, Levi. It’s not the first time we’ll make sacrifices.” He dictates. When Levi doesn’t budge, he demands more firmly. “Otherwise, we’ll find ourselves at death’s doorstep.”

And so Levi went, with an imperturbable resolve, pushing the corpses onto the dirt, the sound of the departed hitting the soiled ground one by one more deafening than any other titan scream. Petra’s limp body rolled against the mud. Little did you know the soul-wrenching sight would haunt you forever.

“We’re lucky.” A cadet murmured to his comrade.

No, seeing the slain — you felt far from lucky. Luck was nowhere to be felt at all.

With titans outside the walls and Markus within it, where do you turn to? Death is closing itself upon you.

This gruesome turn of events is precisely the reason the dining hall is significantly less rowdy tonight. Hell, none of the few who remain seem to be in any conversation at all. The insurmountable loss is yet to fully take its toll.

Even Eren and Jean, the most chaotic among the crowd, aren’t in speaking terms to anyone. It’s in Eren’s eyes: the remorse, the regret, and the plea to go go back in time. And you don’t blame him for it.

Because it’s in yours as well; losing friends should never have been part of the process. They — you can’t even bring yourself to recite their names — had never even found out you know, never even heard a word of thanks for looking out for you.

Everybody longs for comfort.

But if there’s one person who needs it the most, it’s the one absent in this room.

When you enter his office, he’s buried in paperwork, as expected of a man who opts to hide his pain behind an almost flawlessly curated face. Drowning in the words of sympathy he sometimes finds meaningless.

Better to drown in work than in sorrow.

That’s him, alright.

“Nobody’s going to punish you for taking a break.”

Zero response.

A stain in red pigment protrudes against the whiteness of his shirt, indicative of an open injury, a remnant of the earlier battle. Being the captain who detests dirt, it’s obvious he’s cleaned it up thoroughly. But being the captain who can be irritatingly stubborn, he doesn’t plan to take the trouble of seeking a remedy.

“We need to patch that up.”

For the first time, he acknowledges your presence. “No. It’s just a scratch.”

You nimbly trudge towards him. A moderate pressure is applied on the wound under the sleeve, sufficient to incite pain but not multiply damage.

He yanks his arm away from your thumb, a hiss at the abrupt throb. “Are you out of your _mind_?”

“Not just a scratch, now, is it?” you laugh mildly, coaxing him to follow you next. “Come on, let’s go to the clinic. It’d be less messy and more efficient if we go there instead if I bring materials here.”

He fusses, “I’m not following orders from a cadet.” but he relents at your adamant pursuit in making him rise from his chair.

It takes you far longer than it should to stitch the wound, with Levi repeatedly shifting at the edge of the bed, perpetually complaining at the sloppiness of the procedure. He flicks your forehead and swats away your hand when you dab a cotton with antibiotic ointment on his skin.

“Don’t use that. The other one’s better. And damn it, woman,” he holds your wrist, “make it clean or give me the needle.”

“I _am_ making it clean, jerk,” you glare, wriggling your wrist from his clutches and dabbing another cotton (harder this time, causing him to glower at you for the prickling sensation, in which you utter a petty, “Oops.” sarcastically), “if you would only stop moving so much.”

After making last-minute touches on the dressing, you pat the gauze on his arm to suggest that the work is done. “You can talk to me, you know.”

You carry the supplies on the tray to the table beside the head of the bed, getting Levi’s neatly folded shirt on top of it thereafter.

“I have nothing to say.”

“Nothing, really, when you’ve just lost your squad? Or dropped people out of the cart?”

“What do you fucking want me to say?” he resigns.

When you turn around, he’s in front of you, reaching for the fabric on your hand — too close, might you add. Too close, at least, for your liking. He gives you that same burning stare he gives, the eye contact you’ve always had an inclination to return.

“I don’t know. Maybe what you feel. Why do you insist on bearing the burden alone when I’m right here?”

No one is ever this upfront with him. Or as blunt as he is. Erwin, perhaps, but not entirely. No one except you.

Only you.

Much of your concern is concentrated on the way you’ve phrased your sentence to see his nearly invisible reaction, though. You totally did not intend to sound like that. Not consciously, no, and there’s a sliver of reservation when you continue with your monologue.

“I mean, you probably hate the world right now. Scratch that. I _know_ you do. Isn’t it easier to hate the world when you’ve got someone to hate it with?”

Complete silence.

Then it’s just you and him and the unspoken desire neither of you ever comes close to confessing to one another — or even accepting in oneself. It’s there in your brain, sprouting in every corner and every nook and every cranny, that the itch is achingly maddening. The insatiable hunger to know exactly what it means to kiss him, to taste the bitterness of tea on his lips, to weave your fingers through his raven locks, driving you to throw all inhibitions and just —

Damn the consequences.

You entangle your hand on his hair, bring his face to yours.

And your lips meld into a kiss that sets every fiber of your being on fire.

The contact is _electrifying._

_His eyes are stone-cold but his lips are warm. His lips are so, so warm._

_And God, his lips taste like freedom._

He reciprocates every movement without hesitation, with wild, wild anticipation. No guide required for you nor for him, not when every motion is in sync the way it is for lovers who share their millionth kiss.

Except this is the first you’ve shared with him.

It’s a kiss unlike any other, a cherry blossom blooming in the winter, spreading warmth all over amid the frosty tides and icy snowflakes.

His body presses your back to the cold wall, lips still mingling tongues still dancing, and the temperature switch causes your knees to buckle. Deftly linking your legs around his, one hand now rests on the table beside you while the other continues to desperately cling to his hair. A sharp pain shoots in his newly-bandaged arm as he holds your thighs steady. It doesn’t hinder him, though, from lifting them higher, enough for you to feel the friction when he thrusts his hips onto you without planning to.

“Fuck,” you breathe, arching your back in content and full awareness of the bulge, grinding back and searching for that much-wanted, much-needed friction again. “Levi.”

It’s that voice coated in sugar and honey, that voice which always calls his name elegantly, that’s one hell of an intoxicating aphrodisiac. He’ll never say it out loud, but his name flowing effortlessly from your tongue in such rich color has always been music to his ears.

This elicits a low moan, one he’s been struggling to contain, and the sound makes your heart flutter. He’s enjoying this too much, he reprimands, enjoying this far too much.

A hand on your thigh and another on your waist, he moves his lips away from yours to explore your neck the same way your left hand explores his abdomen. His fingers, the ones on your waist a second ago, now latch onto your hair, tilting your head to expose more skin.

Your nails run lightly on his back and then dig in, bidding him to reduce the distance between your bodies — not that there’s anything left to reduce. Your clothes barely do anything to shield you from his bare torso as an arm embraces you.

Especially not when a few buttons pop open.

Eyes closed, breathing ragged, lost and reveling in an exquisite moment of breathless delight — in an ecstasy thought unimaginable.

Too drunk on the high to ever care about the repercussions.

When he bites your bottom lip as he squeezes a breast, the sensation evokes from you a gasp. It’s too good, too beautiful. However, it’s also the ultimate shock of the pleasure that causes your hand to slip on the table beside you, the tray of medical supplies clattering on the floor.

And then it’s like a bucket of frigid water is splashed all over you.

“Oh, shit!” you yelp, snapping out of the euphoria.

He loses his grip on you and you stagger. When he comes to the realization of what happened, his pupils dilate.

 _Oh, shit, shit, shit. What the fuck did I just do? What the fuck did we_ _just do?_

“You’re sad.” is what you explain. Intense emotions are often a recipe for lapses in judgment, for poor, reckless decisions. This, you know well. And you suppose tonight you both fell for that trap. “You’re sad and I didn’t mean to — I’m sorry. I’m going to —”

“Leave.”

The moment he says it, he wishes nothing more than to take it back. What he aimed for was to be given time to collect his thoughts on his own, not for a single word to sound so commanding, so demeaning, so _absolutely detached._

But his innermost feelings never did translate into words well.

It was cruel and he knows it. And with the way you winced, he wants to crucify himself for it.

You choke out, “Yes, I’ll just...” along with a tremble forcibly suppressed.

Refusing to meet him in the eye, you hastily organize the cluttered mess of supplies, stacking the needles, bottles, and bandages in whatever arrangement possible.

This is exactly the consequence you’ve been apprehensive of. What could’ve been a strong bond forged by a connection that dates back to youth, tarnished and irreparably ruined, all because of an action based on impulse and decadence.

It’s selfish, you mentally note, choosing to have acted on your feelings.

It should have been settled at friendship.

As soon as you’re out of the room, you lean on the door. Heaving. Staring at the ceiling. Stabilizing your breathing.

The air didn’t feel right, but you didn’t think you’d end up with this much of a disaster.

He never had the key to your heart — the lost, unopened attic that it is — nobody ever did, and yet somehow, he unknowingly kicked his way into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated (especially now that we’ve reached this far aaa! I'd love to hear feedback) :) Also, I think I got carried away but OH WELL


	12. Chapter 12

He has always considered his heart a labyrinth, but yours even more so.

And for both he has no map, no direction, no compass to navigate them with.

It leaves him confused.

You leave him terribly, terribly confused.

His undercut that has often fallen limply to the sides, now tousled from your doing, grows into a more disheveled mess as his calloused hands comb through it, in desperate search of explanation for questions he can’t even begin to fathom.

It’s been too long since a thing such as this has barged into his life.

So long that he’s forgotten what it means, what it’s called, or if he thinks it is what it is.

He’s forgotten that he can feel _at all_.

Until you made him remember, that is.

He peeks at the flickering ceiling lights — the irregular flitting of the plasma mimicking the unsteady feelings in his heart that he constantly neglected.

They rewind vividly in his head — all the moments that led to the kiss, and all the ones during and after it, surging one after the other like rushing river currents. The problem at hand now is that he had somehow hoped subconsciously it would come, and when it did, he liked it. And if he’s being more brutally honest with himself, he _loved_ it.

When he thinks he shouldn’t have.

Except he wants to do it again — over and over again — as if to quench a thirst he knows is unquenchable.

The white shirt he’s supposed to wear lay on the wooden floor, and he inspects it with abundant thoroughness as if to rid himself of images of you even for a mere split-second. _It’s disgusting_ , he grumbles disapprovingly, and he’s entirely unsure if he’s pertaining to the shirt or whatever that’s making his mind so drastically muddled.

So many doubts go unchecked, and unfortunately, one of them involves what you see him as — because hasn’t he always been just a friend to you? — and, most especially, what he sees you as. Right now, that is. The past is too old to be brought in this seemingly complex equation of sorts.

A friend, or something more?

Because with you, the border blurs. If it were any other recruit, he would’ve easily assumed it was only lust — fleeting and superficial. Except with you — with you whom he has spent so much of his time with — he’s uncertain.

Because with you, things are always different.

As if to make matters worse, the agony of today’s catastrophe has started to settle. Fate has no right to have the audacity to shower him with additional torment when he hasn’t finished grieving for his closest friends.

He sits on the edge of the hospital bed, contemplating. Wondering if it will be incredibly brave (or kind) of him to spare himself yet again some leeway for vulnerability around someone, to allow himself to care for another person, to subject himself to potential misery again by putting someone on a pedestal and making them special and important in his life.

Or incredibly foolish.

The doorknob, smooth and shiny, rests enveloped in his palm. There are far more pressing things concerning humanity to spend precious time on than this mayhem of a heart.

Maybe he’ll face it one day, but not now.

Maybe soon.

* * *

If mental slaps can hurt, your cheeks might be bruised and bloodstained by now. Separation of work from physical attractions has always been something you’ve taken pride of, even if there weren’t many to be attracted to in the Military Police to begin with.

No strings attached, you’ve consistently told yourself.

With the halls gloomy and deserted, your back remains planted on the door of the infirmary, the magnitude of the incident weighing your whole body down the way boulders might. A risky move indeed, given that Levi has yet to come out of the room, but maybe the gods have finally chosen to be on your side tonight.

Or maybe not, because you’re caught by someone else.

“I thought you went to bed!” Hange exclaims, sashaying towards you in lively fashion despite the bleak ambiance — perhaps to make up for the lack of joy in the place. “Is there something wrong? You look flustered.”

Oh, that word — wrong — how laughable. If the regiment isn’t in such dark hour you might have roared at the absurdity of the word because _everything_ feels wrong.

“Nothing,” you manage to say, willing your feet to lift themselves off the ground and meet her halfway, “Needed to cool off, that’s all.”

“Why would you —”

And as if the gods of the universe have voted to conspire against you, the door alarmingly creaks open, leaving you to roll your eyes and purse your lips. Levi just _has_ to step out of the infirmary that very second.

Hange ogles at Levi, earning from him a curt, “Shut that trap, shitty-eyes.” Her reaction makes sense only when you sneak a glance at the back of his retreating figure — his shirt creased and filthy, his hair in rare disarray.

As soon as he’s no longer within earshot, Hange quirks a brow. “I see.”

“What? We didn’t do anything.” you counter defensively.

“Ah, you can’t bullshit me this time,” she pats your cheek, her hair bouncing in excitement. “The evidence is hard and frankly, damning.”

“I was only tending to his wound.” you reply, grasping at straws in vain effort to save face.

“No need to explain. I’m sure that involves ruffling each other’s hair, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, fine!” you cave in, knowing you’ll be running in circles with her all night unless you give her the answer she’s expecting. “We may have kissed...a bit.”

At this point, Hange puts a hand on her hips and sneers. “You’re such an exceptional liar, you know that? I’d believe you, really, if you had just buttoned up your shirt correctly.”

There’s a look of horror in your face as you comprehend that she’s right — two buttons mismatched due to your frantic scamper — causing a throw of hands in surrender. “ALRIGHT! We made out, are you happy now?”

“Very.”

Suddenly the walls around you are not of the ones in the hallways but of the infirmary, Hange’s mouth running on full blast as she pesters details of your private encounter with him. Lips sealed, eyes focused everywhere else but hers, you remain unyielding.

But chains can remain only tight for so long, especially around those who are skillful in breaking them.

“Okay, I’ll let you go if answer this one.” The door is blocked from your grasp as Hange moves in front of it. “What’s your ideal type?”

The response she receives is a face of incredulity.

“Don’t worry,” she grins impishly, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of her nose, “this is all just hypothetical.”

“ _Hypothetically_ ,” you pace back and forth, a stream of descriptions gushing out of your mouth in fluid motion as if you have an answered prepared for this all along, “just somebody who matches my energy. You know, one who treats me neither a princess nor a servant, but as an equal. Someone who will not only lift me up but also ground me down when needed. I’m not looking for an other half, because I _am_ complete, in the most humble sense of the word. I want someone whole. It isn’t too much to ask for a partner who can stand on his own the way I’ve done so nearly all my life — a person who doesn’t need me but wants me enough to make me stay, right?”

Hange nods. “That’s a mouthful. We’re still being hypothetical, right?”

The question brings you out of your trance. “What? Oh! Yes, of course.”

She senses your shock. “Sounds to me like you had a specific person in mind.”

“I’m not talking about him.”

“Keep telling yourself that. God, when will you ever admit it?”

“Because —”

_Because he doesn’t feel the same way, does he?_

There’s a sharp pause in your movements when you catch your first thought.

“Seriously, what are you so scared of when you’ve known each other for so long?” She cups her hand over her mouth at the recognition of her blunder. “Oh, shit. Levi will kill me when he finds out that you know I know. He slipped up when I kept nagging him about why you two seemed awfully close. But for a man who likes to keep his sentences short,” she laughs, “he sure does not shut up when talking about you. ‘This brat, that brat...’ Hey, are you listening?”

Gaze focused at the wooden floorboards, your thoughts have long gone into anarchy, unbelieving at the admission of something that’s been long caged in the back of your mind, shackled in the deepest, darkest recesses of your heart, unwilling to be set free nor awakened in the fear of unrequited feelings and bitter rejection.

Which you got recently.

You gently push Hange to the side. “I’m tired, Hange. Let me rest.”

Rest is the last thing you acquire tonight, the dawning realization that these feelings cloaking your heart are more dangerous than you imagined it to be dwelling every available space in your brain. And in the cracks between these spaces, you chide yourself, because it should have stayed physical. Because if it were purely physical, it would’ve been so much easier to discard and move on from.

Because love — what a dangerous disadvantage in this line of work.

It’s a dance with jeopardy.

You were never one to create personal commandments, being the free-spirited woman that you are, but there’s one that you’ve religiously followed: never let your heart rule your head.

But maybe for him, you’d bend and break that rule.

* * *

Stolen, cryptic glances; subtle, accidental touches; terse, cautious sentences — these are the manifestations of the aftermath of that one error in judgment.

It’s been a month.

It’s been a month since that one fucking mistake of a kiss, the weeks stretching and wilting away into stiff, monotonous routines that didn’t involve getting underneath his skin the way you habitually did, the drought of banter enough to incur interest from friends.

It’s been a month, or at least rough estimates tell you it is when it must be longer than that. Tracking on what might become a permanent setup is futile (and depressing) work.

Today, however, you’re obligated to be in close proximity for quite a while as Erwin calls for a meeting among those who will take charge in tomorrow’s unique scouting mission — a night exploration of titan territory.

With the steep decline in troops as a result of the 57th Expedition, Erwin has taken it upon himself to gather every bit of strength found within the Corps to fight in the vanguard. Including you, you whose team is paired with Levi’s, you whom Levi explicitly aforementioned to Erwin not to pair him with due to “matters that’s none of Erwin’s business.”

Of course, Erwin is not the type to heed such whims.

“Not a problem, sir.” You affirm the Commander in textbook professionalism, banishing the personal objections flooding your insides for the sake of your duties as a soldier.

Later in the afternoon you find yourself in solitude, fixated at striking the hanging sacks of sand in the training grounds with colossal force, knuckles acting as outlets for the stress and frustration dying to be released. There’s nowhere else to project these emotions on, because spilling them to Jean or Eren or the others will only merit inquiries you’re not totally ready to explain or even have an answer to at all (Such as, “What are you guys?”), chatting Hange will result to her unintentionally blurting them out to Levi, and well, it’s not the best idea to turn to him, is it?

Damn, do you miss him so much.

“Oi, stop.” A sturdy grip interferes your coiled fist that’s millimeters from connecting to the sack, much to your dismay. “You’re bleeding.”

Levi.

There’s a harsh intake of breath as you uncurl your fist, pain oozing and swelling as viscous blood trickles from a gash located between the middle and index finger.

You brush it off, pinching your arm to alleviate the sting and direct your concentration to another part of the body.

“It’ll heal.”

_It’ll heal faster than how you told me to leave, that’s for sure._

“Look,” he fumbles, still not dropping his hold on you. Your expression brightens by a slim margin, relieved that he’s begun to say something. “I —”

“Pst!” Eren hollers in the distance, grimacing when he sees that it’s a discourse with the captain that he’s interrupted. “Joining us for dinner?”

“Who else?” You chuckle. Levi hasn’t heard that from you in a while.

Looking back at Levi and smiling faintly at him, you steer the conversation back to where it was headed, “What was it again?”

He mistakes your enthusiasm for his words as eagerness to end this and have a meal with your friends, initial courage diminishing and evaporating into thin air, spiraling into a pang of unexpected hurt. _Who else_ , you said, connoting that he’s neither your first choice nor your second — not even _at all_. If you seem perfectly fine with this new arrangement, then he should learn to accept it as well.

He lets go. “Nothing.”

A frown escapes your face as you pry a bit more, disheartened that he has opposed to having meaningful exchange at the last minute, upset and perplexed at the change of heart. “No, it’s not nothing. What were you supposed to say?”

“Forget it.”

“...If that’s what you want.”

In your hesitant submission to turn your back to him, he catches a bewildering spark of disappointment in your eyes, and it leaves him with confusion — he’s left with strings of ‘what if’s and ‘why’s rolled and knotted into complicated bundles that he cannot fully untangle.

Weren’t you happy a second ago?

As you walk back to the headquarters, head hanging and shoulders slouching, you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, shutting eyes to lock away the irresistible urge to run back to him and yell, “TALK TO ME!” that’s slowly eating you alive. You hang tight and keep it together, afraid to overstep boundaries lest widen the rift between you and him to an irredeemable gap.

“I’ll listen when you’re ready.” is what the note you left on his table the morning after the kiss said. It was all you could muster.

And from that day on, you’ve blended into the background, being the goody-two shoes careful in crossing lines.

But underneath the crumbling façade is a concealed craving to sit beside him at the mess hall, to work with him in his office, to challenge him in combats in front of cadets; however, it would be a little too thick-skinned of you to shove yourself to him when you can’t even gauge where you stand in his life now, wouldn’t it?

It’s true, you’re all ears — but you can’t listen when he _won’t say anything._

To him, you’re an enigmatic book, a scripture written in ancient markings, in an archaic language he’s unable to completely decipher.

To you, he’s the exactly the same thing.

“Come on,” you whisper to no one in particular, breath a little shaky, as you wipe away something slightly damp that shouldn’t be on your cheek, “don’t do this to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated!! :)
> 
> (Please tell me if this made you feel something — or anything at all.)


	13. Chapter 13

“I expect nothing but top performance, now that you’ve landed a higher position. Make sure not to break, especially since you’re working with me.”

Filthy boots march through the cracked mud, soles hitting the earth in the lightest of touches as opposed to the heavy ambiance of the forest. Only the oil lamps and torch lights clasped sternly by the nervous hands of young, jittery cadets serve as the source of light in this partially moonless evening.

It’s one thing to scout titan territory, it’s another to do it at night when there is limited visibility, when enemies become hidden in the dark.

To many, the fear of the unknown, of the constant threat obscured in the shadows, is paralyzing.

You fall into step with Levi, the pace quick, measured, and rhythmic, as you take a furtive glance and scoff at his arrogant remark.

If those were words of encouragement from a captain to a woman who has scaled the ranks as Squad Leader, then they don’t do their job well — certainly not when they’re his first words to you since yesterday’s failed endeavor at what might have been a confrontation. It’s baffling, really, analyzing what prompted this uncaring behavior, when you’ve done nothing but reach out to him, when you thought this phase between the two of you had long passed. As such, it feels incredulous, then, to note that you actually shed a tear for this asshole of a captain yesterday.

“Get off your high horse, Levi. I am not fragile. I will not break.”

And the world falls into silence once more.

When the crushing blow that was the 57th Expedition had stricken, the Corps anticipated a dramatic deflation in its number of forces. What it didn’t anticipate were the evening raid of titans in Castle Utgard not long ago, the identity reveals of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Ymir, and even Historia, and Erwin’s subsequent decision to conduct a night exploration as preparation for the time they’ll reclaim Wall Maria.

“Destiny favors the prepared.” Erwin asserted in the meeting.

Each pair of squads takes a different route to better facilitate the mission, to survey as many alternative paths as possible, and to ascertain the activity of titans.

“Familiarize yourself with the environment.” Levi orders among the silent, huddled crop of soldiers with him. “And memorize the path. We’re not here for sightseeing.”

This time, the goal is to evade titans, not attack them.

Fate has other plans: it chooses to rain on their parade hours later, literally.

The sound came first, then the feeling next. A low thunder resonated from the sky, and soon enough, drizzle made contact with everyone’s cloaks.

“Captain, shall we take cover?” Eren questions loudly, perhaps to ease his nerves.

“No.” Levi responds. “We’re almost done. I know you’re all capable of withstanding light rain.”

Someone emits a yelp, causing everyone to whip out their blades. The origin of the shout was one of your members, a frail-looking soldier, a boy almost as young as the 104th cadets, if not only a couple of months older.

His eyes are bloodshot with fright as his arm is outstretched to illuminate directly at the humongous face of a motionless titan, its eyes open but vacant of any sign of life nor recognition of humans.

Connie reacts, “Must be one of those who has recently exhausted their energy.” exhaling a small sigh of relief that it’s immobile.

“Aren’t you all afraid?” a meek voice asks.

Turning your head to the speaker, the very person who first saw the inactive titan, you chime in. “I think it’s not about being unafraid, but more of being brave. Bravery isn’t about absence of fear, but the willpower to move forward despite the abundance of it.”

“Didn’t think a specific someone has words of wisdom to share.” Jean teases, relieving some of the seriousness.

You chortle, “Ha! I know, right? Who’d have thought they’d come from me, eh?”

Levi clicks his tongue discreetly. Well, _he_ does, considering that he’s heard quite a few of them from you at the most unexpected times.

Not long after, he turns around swiftly, coming to the conclusion that you’ve all accessed enough of the terrain to be acquainted with it at night. “Alright. You better have imprinted in those thick skulls of yours the route we took. We’re going back using gear. I don’t want to see anyone lagging behind-”

A knot in the pit of your stomach forms as you shush everyone in alarm. “Wait, listen.”

Levi doesn’t take your interruption kindly. “I’m not done speaking, in case you haven’t-”

“No,” you clutch his wrist momentarily, forgetting that you’re no longer casual with him, and then release it just as quickly as you reached for it, “ _listen_.”

And so he does.

The tremor is feeble against the pitter-patter of the rain, but if one strains his ears intently enough, the vibration and noise are perceptible.

Titans.

Estimations from yesterday evening’s atmospheric conditions indicated that the next thirty-six hours should have been cloudy, which is why they’ve chosen to push through — waiting for the cycle to reach the next new moon is a waste of time — and yet here they are, under a sky that what was once packed with clouds minutes ago now partially moonlit.

Lady fucking luck _takes pleasure_ in delivering misfortune to the Survey Corps, doesn’t she?

A cacophony of large, charging footsteps and screams come from every direction, and everyone, except you and the captain, perhaps, erupts into a rampant state of panic. This was not part of the plan. You’re all essentially operating blind.

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!” the captain roars, absolutely livid at the discord in front of him. “Were you all trained to cower in fear at the slightest of mishaps? Answer me, brats.”

And yet he knows this is definitely not a _slight_ mishap. He can’t admit that to them, though.

The soldiers stand still. “No, sir.”

He springs into action, preparing to take on the beasts single-handedly. “That’s what I thought. Head to where the horses are now. I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.”

Steel cables shoot out immediately, branches shaking as the cadets land on them one by one.

There’s a brief hesitation on your part while the others instantly retreat. “Are you sure? I can help-”

“Go.” He cuts you off, trusting you to listen to him for once in the battlefield. “Make sure the brats don’t do anything remotely stupid.”

For the first time tonight, you meet his eyes, abandoning all accumulated reservations before turning on your heels. “Make sure to come back alive.”

He blinks once, then twice, as if astonished you seriously care that much about his welfare, and then nods.

Flying closely behind the cadets, you do a mental headcount, and it’s with chilling dread that you conclude that there’s one missing person.

“ARMIN!” You call the blond, already backtracking, as he’s the one nearest to you. “We’re one person short! I’ll look for him — keep everyone in check!”

He’s left with no room for reaction as you immediately veer to the opposite direction, searching furiously for the lone soldier.

When the rest of the cadets arrive at the captain’s assigned destination, it’s only then that Armin is able to inform the rest of his comrades about your whereabouts.

Levi shows up not long after, visibly distressed and lethargic from whatever he fought.

“All right, let’s head back-” He barks upon landing, stopping dead in his tracks after skimming faces, now hyper aware of your absence and that of another cadet. “Why are you incomplete?”

“She said she’d go back to look for him, sir.” Armin supplies, referring to you and the soldier who screamed earlier, going rigid at the understanding that you’re both nowhere to be found.

Eren interjects. “Didn’t...didn’t you pass by them, sir?”

“Tell me...” he taunts in menacing irritation, “Look closely with those green eyes of yours and tell me, does it look like someone’s behind me?”

Pressing his thumb and index finger on his temples, he mutters, “Fucking hell.” lowly in dangerous calmness and agitation, and laced in it is a detectable undertone of concern none of the soldiers will ever dare mention to him — or to anyone, for that matter.

He addresses everyone quickly, impatient to begin his search and rescue — secretly hoping it’s _not_ a rescue he’s doing. “There might be more, so get to the gates as soon as possible. Ackerman, don’t let Jaegar transform. It’ll be another problem if he goes berserk. Arlert, you’re authorized to make decisions but _only_ when absolutely necessary. The rest of you — don’t die, don’t get eaten, don’t fuck up. Understood?”

“Yes, captain!”

He goes back, maneuvering deep in the woods, muscles tense and brows creased, every vein coursing with worry that he only felt as strongly as he does now six years ago, the day he lost Isabel and Farlan.

It’s almost a replica of that nightmare: him under the pouring rain, him isolating himself from the troops, him realizing he’s not where he should be.

He has never been a firm believer in religion, but if he were, now would have been a great time to hold a rosary and recite a prayer.

You better be alive.

* * *

As you scour the trees, a halo of light on the ground ahead of you that’s seemingly ascending draws your eyes. A bolt of horror pulsed through your entire being at the discovery that a soldier is shining his torch light at the face of a titan, his body unshakably trapped in its hands.

It becomes distracted as a trail of expletives run off your mouth in an effort to shift its attention, but in a flurry to orbit it, you don’t notice the tree you crash into, resulting into a loss of control that sends you into a rapid dive to the ground.

A groan bubbles in your throat from the debilitating pain in the torso from the sheer violence of the impact, from the feeling of prickling needles on your left leg caused by the jagged edges of rocks ripping through your trousers.

You push yourself off the dirt with faltering footsteps, considering whether it’s more effective to slice its heels first or fly straight to the nape.

But the physical pain pales in comparison to the shrill scream that drains the color in your face.

In that millisecond delay, the titan has managed to maim your comrade by crunching half of his arm. You immediately latch the the grapple hooks to its neck and drive for the kill, hot steam rising from its nape. As the creature loses it balance, so do you, and in a stroke of twisted luck, the gear _won’t fucking work_ as you try to reel the wires.

“ARE YOU SHITTING ME?”

The titan wobbles excessively sideways, inching closer to one of the trees, and you take the chance to leap and cling to one of its branches. Suspended mid-air, you try to lift yourself up but fail miserably, the wound from yesterday’s punches beginning to sting from the overexertion.

It’s better to let go and just brace for another fall, then.

But the fall never did come, as a cool hand grips your waist while the two of you descend smoothly to the ground.

“What the HELL were you-” Levi angrily castigates, but stops on the dot when you dash away from him, massaging your torso to soothe the ache from the previous accident.

You kneel to your unconscious, incapacitated comrade, checking his pulse. “Take him. He needs a doctor. My gear’s defective and it seems like so is his, which is why the titan got to him. I’ll find shelter and wait for you or someone else in the morning.”

There’s a constriction in your heart as you convey this, although you’ve always been well-versed at hiding trepidation. To say you’re that you’re wholly unafraid, that you’re utterly, wholeheartedly amenable to situation would be a mockery of your dreams.

Because you aren’t.

Except it’s not the potential gruesome journey to death that scares you, but the idea of being unable to taste the liberty you’ve always longed for.

And there’s that pride of yours not wanting to die too early, much less at the hands of a vile creature.

The only solution left is to swallow that pride and be brave, you suppose in defeat.

To be brave is not to be devoid of fear, but to be so full of it and yet still rise above it.

Levi stares at you, face ashen and mind a haze, paralyzed at the crisis in front of him: you’re obliging him to leave you out in the open — in the fucking woods swarming with titans in the dead of the night — to put you in the inevitable, inescapable risk of death, like it’s no big deal to trade a life for another and put yours on the line.

Duty always take precedence. Technically, that should include you, right?

“GO!” you urgently demand. “Do you want all three of us to die?!”

And he realizes, right then and there, as he breaks at the seams, in a moment of great, unmistakable clarity, that you are more than just a friend.

Six long years, and you are _still_ more than just a friend.

And he’ll be damned if he loses you.

“I do know I don’t want _you_ to fucking die!”

Your breath hitches.

The open, irrevocable declaration that he cares for you sounds as strange to his ears as it does to you. And he derides himself for being so _fucking stupid_ that it took him this long — or that it took nearly being on the verge of life and death for it to happen.

“But if he bleeds to death...we both know that’s not just on me, but also on you, and we’d never forgive ourselves. Or maybe you will, but not me. _Not me_.” you accentuate the last sentence. “I can survive a few hours, so just...believe in me.”

Believe.

Oh, how he loathes that word with a burning, undiluted passion.

It doesn’t matter how it sounded so real, so authentic when it slid off your lips. It doesn’t matter that there’s a pleading look in your eyes. He’s heard it too many times, and how did every single one of those who said it end up? That’s right — dead.

He’s contemplated on carrying you and the other soldier, but even if he can — well, he obviously can — the wires will likely break from the weight of three people. He concedes to the one viable option left to ensure that, at least for the time being, you’re out of harm’s way. As he throws the body on his shoulder, he intertwines his hands with yours.

You protest indignantly as you both sprint in full speed, or at least in the speed that your injured leg can take you, heart hammering not because of the possible, imminent threat of titans, but of how terrifying yet comforting it is that his hands fits _so_ _fucking well_ with yours _._

“What — what are you doing?! Are you stupid enough to think we’d make it in time if we _ran_? And my injured leg won’t take me far.”

“Shut up. You think I’m leaving you there? There’s an abandoned house nearby.” He’s probed this forest countless of times to know, even with eyes closed, that somewhere, somehow, there’s normally a place someone can take refuge.

He ushers you inside, confirming beforehand that it’s empty and safe to rest in.

“I can handle it from here.” you reassure him, sitting on the dusty sofa by the windows beside the door.

“You better be alive when I come back. Don’t you _fucking_ _dare_ die.”

The corners of your lips curl in earnest determination.

“I’ve already told you, haven’t I? I am not fragile. I _will not_ break.”

A pregnant pause.

His eyes dart back and forth to yours and to the door, constantly switching between the two, as if there’s an internal turmoil rioting in his head.

Because there is, and it’s unclear to him if the winning hand is right and logical.

You receive one last, lingering look before he heads out.

And only when he’s out of the house did you realize he left you with more than just a look.

Something light.

Soft.

Airy.

Feathery to the touch.

_A forehead kiss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late, university is taking up so much of my time and I didn’t want to publish something half-assed :( I hope the ending makes up for that <3
> 
> Anyway, I’ve been saying this over and over again, but thank you to anyone and everyone who has read this far! :)
> 
> Comments, as usual, are highly appreciated! (Seriously, I love reading and replying to them. My heart always goes giddy with excitement.)


	14. Chapter 14

It was almost like a fever dream. An illusion, of sorts.

Apparently, the more someone contemplates on something unnatural, the more the boundaries between fact and fiction blur.

That contemplation comes to you now, at midnight, in this grime-coated, nearly-wrecked house.

Affectionate gestures from Levi are scarce. Or at least the plain, conventional ones. The very idea that he, a man with a tongue so scathing it must have originated from the depths of hell, would ever give a _forehead kiss_ was borderline inconceivable.

Like a laughable hallucination.

And yet...it wasn’t.

 _It wasn’t_.

Maybe, just maybe, he reciprocates the same feelings you’ve harbored for him.

_That’s delusional._

_He’ll never entertain the prospect of such personal attachments._

Vague words and actions are prone to misinterpretations, especially when they come from someone difficult to read. He said he didn’t want you to die — an easy thing to tell any other soldier.

Legs crossed and arms folded, body laid on the couch and fully exposed to the heat — save for the parts covered by your underwear — you take a deep inhale to pacify your thoughts; the faint smell of petrichor tickling your nostrils, the noise of the crackling flames matching the buzzing madness in your head.

Perhaps it’s better not to hypothesize anything at all.

Until he says exactly what you are to him, or until you’re no longer scared to know.

Your mind begins to wander, eyes drooping as the fatigue starts to settle and —

“If you’re dead, I — why the fuck did you strip off your uniform?!”

Every shred of drowsiness vanishes when the door creaks and a baritone voice greets your ears.

You shriek in surprise, pulling legs close to the chest.

“Shit — you’re not yet supposed to — wait — oh, God — WHY ARE YOU STILL LOOKING? TURN AROUND! Enjoying the view that much?”

“Tch. What view?” Levi replies, making no effort to tear his apathetic gaze away, but a closer attention reveals that his ears, a tad pinker than its usual shade, betray his hollow remark.

“Fucker,” you grumble, sputtering incoherent phrases of embarrassment in between, as you rashly snatch the clothes you hung to dry by the fireplace. “Just turn around, will you?”

The request is granted, but not without complaints, him tapping his foot once in a while to signal his impatience.

“Learn to wait, jackass.” you scold him, still in the process of zipping trousers. “Also, ever heard of knocking?”

“Oh, _right_ ,” he sneers, “because titans would be polite enough to knock before intruding.”

You purse your lips before relenting, his point taken with a hint of annoyance that’s later substituted by concern when you ask how come he’s here sooner than expected. Anybody knows, especially Erwin or those who guard the gates, that it’s unwise to travel alone at night.

Levi doesn’t respond right away, inspecting the couch in great detail before sitting on it; you only quietly observe, awaiting an explanation.

“Erwin didn’t know.”

“ _What_?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? I acted of my own accord, simple as that. Don’t look so constipated. Hange’s aware, which means Erwin will be informed by now, if you’re so anxious about how they’ll find out.”

“And they let you out at this hour?”

“I’m not the captain for shits and giggles.” is what he says.

He’ll come to you as soon as he can, come hell or high water, is what he doesn’t say.

You fiddle with your thumb, unsure of what to do now that you have company — and him, at that. If only, _if only_ , you hadn’t kissed him, things won’t be as awkward as they are now.

“Alright,” he continues, and what follow strike you dumb, “put the wounded leg on my lap.”

That’s unlike him.

On the rare occasions you’ve injured yourself in the Underground, help comes from him begrudgingly.

But now... Now he’s being...uncharacteristically nice. He’s being so oddly nice that it stumps you, so much so that his one-in-a-million offer is met with refusal.

“Don’t bother. Give me the supplies and I’ll treat it myself.”

A burst of exasperation floods him. “That goddamn pride of yours. Is it what you eat for breakfast?”

And it’s that exasperation that sends you a little too close to the edge.

“That’s rich, coming from someone with towering pride he has no trouble not speaking to me at all.”

With how he recoils a little, you know you hit a nerve. He doesn’t disagree — he can’t because it’s unarguably true.

A taste of his own medicine, eh?

But spewing an insult isn’t something you planned.

“No — I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I said I’d wait. I didn’t mean to invalidate your —”

“Don’t be a baby and just put the fucking leg.”

“I’m not!” you huff. “I just — I can take care of myself.”

“You can, but you don’t.” he motions to your knuckles. “Take that hand of yours for example.”

Your leg with the makeshift bandage you constructed out of your cloak is lifted firmly but carefully without approval, him no longer beating around the bush.

Speechless, you let him do the work.

Contrary to popular belief, Levi is exceptionally gentle when it matters the most. And tonight, it matters most when he’s treating you — taking care of you, if he may be so bold to assume.

One of the few times he has done so, or you have let him.

After thorough (and maybe excessive) cleaning, a swab of antiseptic cream is dabbed on the wound. “Nothing rest couldn’t cure.”

You nod meekly, slightly ashamed at having lost your temper. Now that the leg is taken care of, you suppose you can both finally sleep and wait for daybreak.

Wrong.

“Take your shirt off.”

You gape at him. Or more correctly, you choke on air.

Tonight is far from over, so it seems.

He elaborates, after your jaw drops in hilarious exaggeration, “Not like that, dumbass.” Although, he _may_ want it to be like that. “Something hurts, doesn’t it? I’ll check it out.”

“Oh!” you wave your hands, dismissing the pulsating twinge. “Probably just a light bruise or something. I’ll have it checked tomorrow.”

When he moves closer to press the spot he saw you holding hours ago, you flinch remarkably.

“ _Not just a light bruise now, is it?_ ” he mocks in visible dullness.

Scowling, you undo some of the buttons on the lower part of the shirt, hoisting it cautiously to reveal some of your skin.

It’s often a game of turning words against each other.

And then you freeze beneath his touch, synapses in brain firing in different directions.

He bides his time, his fingers tracing paths so delicately on your skin, the sensation sending a fleeting shock that surges in your chest.

Exquisite, like how he’d adjust your stances back in the days.

_Stop, stop, stop._

“There might be swelling for a few days but — look, if you’re getting numb, just take off the damn thing.” he comments after witnessing your uneasiness from keeping the shirt from falling.

Adding nonchalantly, “Nothing I haven’t seen.”

You blush furiously.

“No need to bring that up!” you retort abashedly before acquiescing to remove the clothing, reminded of the first time you persuaded Levi to let you experiment with the gear he had stolen from the Military Police.

It was your past terrible sense of balance led to a small accident, and it didn’t come to pass without several bruises at your upper body. And with what little medicine he could obtain through his connections within the confines of the Underground, he did his best to assist you patch them up.

_“See, I told you it was a bad idea.” his face contorted into a look of distaste while yours into an expression somewhere in the middle of a grimace and a laugh._

_“But it was fun, wasn’t it?”_

Years later your heart still thumps as he secures the medical dressing on your waist to serve as compression, him seeing more of you than you have permitted anybody else to.

His bangs swish from side to side as he fixes his work. You watch it absentmindedly, reminiscing how his face was inches from yours when he asked, _“You good?”_

Just like now.

“You good?”

 _Never better_ , you smiled.

And out of reflex, “Never better.”

Levi has always been in control of his actions — even now when there’s a guiding force that compels him to shatter the self-restraint he has mastered to perfection. He has always been in control of his actions, so when he angles his head enough for your foreheads to touch, he knows he’ll only have himself to blame for whatever backlash he’ll receive.

Except his advances are welcomed, the willpower you have carefully crafted lately crumbling into pulverized dust. His thumb strokes your bottom lip, and the sublime feeling it stimulates is extraordinarily surreal that it leaves you like a deer in the headlights.

Who would’ve thought he’s capable of something so soft?

Not him, that’s for sure.

His lips graze yours tentatively — unsure, unsteady, uncertain on whether to proceed.

It’s a dilemma for you, and it’s one that he shares.

But before you can make your decision, he does his.

And he leans in.

You gasp, the warm contact all too familiar _and_ unfamiliar at the same time.

It isn’t electrifying.

It isn’t electrifying, because it’s surprisingly sweet and soft and gentle. Something you didn’t think would ever come from him — at least not this way.

So... _loving_.

Could be a product of your imagination, though.

Everything, _everything_ , always feels so beautiful with him. Like all is good and right in the world.

But you can’t have everything.

If only you could stop time.

That’s the charm of time, though: it’s relative. And to you, five seconds lasted an eternity.

You break the kiss.

“We can’t do this,” you laugh humorlessly. Your palms clutch his jacket, the bitter smile etched on your profile hidden, as a poignant memory plays in your head. “We can’t, because you’re going to regret this again, aren’t you?”

And he hears his heart break a little, just how your voice does, when you say, “ _I can’t ruin what little I have left with you_.”

A punch to the fucking gut.

“I don’t —” he sighs, a downcast look on his face gone in the blink of an eye that you mistake it as a trick of the light.

One word was all it took — _one that he didn’t mean_ — to set into perpetual motion the chain of events that led you and him to where you are now: in shambles.

It sickens him to the core.

 _Leave,_ he said.

And leave you did.

He strides towards the chair at the other corner of the room, “I’ll stay here.”

“I don’t mind sharing the space.” you blurt out, tilting upwards your head that was once bowed down.

Fuck.

“I mean, you did me a favor by arriving early; this is me returning it. You must be exhausted. Plus, this is the cleanest furniture here, so...”

The cognitive dissonance is almost comical.

Here you are, inconspicuously pulling him back again, shortly after a blatant withdrawal.

The nature of your relationship with him is ambiguous at this point. Extremely ambiguous that even he jumps at the first excuse to be beside you by accepting your invitation like it was a knee-jerk reaction. It was out-of-character for him to surrender like a bat out of hell, but he knows one more rejection and you’d never suggest anything like it a second time.

What are you, really?

Friends, enemies, or strangers who know too much about each other?

You draw circles on the backseat of the couch, your back against his, and force yourself to doze off, keen to disconnect your mind from your heart.

And yet when you close your eyes, it’s still him you see in your dreams.

_The bell rings and a lone figure appears._

_“Wow, three weeks later and somebody finally decides to show up.” you beam at the man who entered, grabbing the half-empty bottles of beer and wiping the spilled liquid and breadcrumbs on the deserted tables._

_He scrunches his face as the foul smell of alcohol and cigarettes invade his nose, his tolerance for the pub’s odor only stemming from the inclination to visit you._

_“That’s payback for not meeting me at the usual for a week.”_

_“So dramatic, Levi.” you laugh candidly, pinching his cheek which earns you a glare, “I told you we’d be making renovations here and I’d be too tired for anything else. You could’ve just come here. You, on the other hand, gave me absolutely no notice whatsoever. Want black tea?”_

_“I had business.” he answers curtly, evasively._

_And it frustrates you._

_“You’ll never really tell me anything, huh?”_

_The friendly mood fades in a flash._

_“No.”_

_But the frustration is overpowered by the desire to keep him close, so you drop the matter. “Okay, you grumpy, old man. Keep your secrets to yourself.”_

_Your aunt nods when you mouth that you’d go outside._

_“How are Isabel and Furlan?” you lean coolly on the wall, hands behind._

_He groans with an emphasis. “Annoying the living shit out of me.”_

_“Good.”_

_He follows your movements, sitting on the stairs by the doorstep, tensing slightly when he feels the side of your head on his shoulder._

_“The next time I lean on your shoulder, it’ll be the stars we’ll be looking at, yeah?”_

_“One day.” he vows. “Not this stupid ass stone ceiling.”_

_Tranquil moments like this are what you relish the most in a district as rowdy as the Underground. Quite ironically, they often happen when you’re with Levi, someone you know has a life far from tranquil._

_When he’s about to leave, all self-control flies out the window as you pull him into a tight hug._

_“I missed you.” you whisper, like it’s a secret lullaby only he is allowed to hear._

_He hums in agreement, and you know it’s the most of a reaction you can get out of him._

_“Worried?” he teases, the smirk detectable in his tone._

_“Yes, worried I’d have no one to punch and kick for fun anymore.”_

_“Last time I checked, I blocked eighty percent of those.”_

_You aim a jab at his abdomen. “I live for the twenty percent. Besides, that’ll be fifty by now.”_

_Anything that openly suggests intense sentimental value doesn’t appeal to him — at least not since his mother died. A detached criminal for a guardian doesn’t exactly raise an orphaned child to be an expert in emotions._

_So when you embrace him like your life depended on it, it leaves him rooted to the spot. Even more so when it lasts longer than a minute._

_“Do you even plan to —”_

_“Shut up and hug me.”_

_God, that pout in your voice._

_That mix of command and request._

_He can’t resist it, even if he tried._

_As soon as you feel him wrap his arms around you, a hidden grin paints your features._

_You won that one._

_He mutters something along the lines of, “This is nice.” but his head buried at the crook of your neck, so you can’t say for sure._

_But if it were, then yes. Yes, this is nice. So undeniably nice._

_And then the rest of the world falls into oblivion, put behind and cast aside, as the ground beneath caters to the tiny movements of your feet, in tune to the beat of a ballad echoing only in your heads._

_Secretly treasuring a moment you both knew wouldn’t last forever_.

_But hope would._

The lids of your eyes jolt open and you suck in a harsh breath as you recount your dream — a distant thing you cannot return to.

Or maybe, in a way, you can.

The bizarre position you’re in is now palpable, your vision adjusting to the weak glow of the early hours of sunrise as other senses kick in.

You’re lying face-first on top of his chest, hand draped across him, leg on his.

Anyone can get the wrong impression.

Although you’d be lying if you say you’re not pleased you woke up like this.

Good morning, indeed.

He grunts halfway through your mission of detaching as muted as possible, his fingers trailing from your back to your waist to your shoulder, his arms tugging you close.

His breathing is light, calm, and controlled; chest rising and falling gracefully as if he’s stuck in the deepest of slumbers.

You snuggle back contentedly. Might as well cherish this.

In reality, he’s utterly aware of the situation at hand, immediately stirring awake not long ago when he felt you switch sides.

“Cold...” you mumbled groggily.

It was with amusement that he watched your hand moved desperately, longing for a blanket’s warmth, only for it to land on his left one. But it was with a whole other level of entertainment that he felt you clasp the hand and bring his arm around you.

 _Adorable_ , he would’ve told you.

This was not an opportunity he’s willing to let go.

He elevated your upper body to prevent any unnecessary pressure on the bruise, this time his right arm hugging you.

And for some reason, you stopped whining about the cold.

His world-class performance works wonders, apparently. He stares at your form a final time before relaxing to a sleep of his own — one of the most comfortable ones he’s had yet.

If there is one moment he could immortalize in his memory, he’d pick this, right here, without question.

If only things can last forever.

Sadly they don’t, and a wall of deafening silence resurfaces during the journey to the Regiment.

It leaves him to a world of musings, an avalanche of emotions begging to be kept at bay.

Chaos is a friend he knows all too well, a shadow stalking him without rest, and for a sliver of silence, he’ll do anything.

But not this.

Not with you, not like this.

His hold on the rein of the horse stiffens, his heart longing to say, “I miss you. Come back to me.” but not knowing when or how to.

His heart seeking, _yearning_ for your presence.

But only when he hears you speak, each syllable spoken ever so softly that they nearly get scattered in the wind, like ashes and cinders of the fire of a love that cannot be extinguished, only then does he realize you’re still awake, or that he already said his thoughts out loud.

“You never lost me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like this one!!! Comments are appreciated! :)


	15. Chapter 15

“Dude, shut up. You’ll disturb her.”

“Only if you shut that muzzle of yours.”

“How long do you think before she wakes up?”

“Nurses said anytime tonight, weren’t you listening? Hey, it’s too cold in here, shut the windows a bit.”

Hushed chattering partnered with a gust of howling wind shake you awake. Well-lit, spacious, and immaculate surroundings — not your bunk, obviously. When the room comes into focus, you’re greeted by a gaping Mikasa and Armin.

“Might want to ask her yourself, Sasha.” Mikasa announces. The part in her hair slightly disproportions when she cocks her head to the side.

Conversations die down and four heads whip around, easily recognizable unlike the room you’re in, until your brain finally gears up.

Rich cushion. Lined-up beds. The table in which your hand slipped the night you and Levi first kissed.

The infirmary. Infirmary is a place of healing, and yet the one event you have begun to highly associate it with is the one that has hurt you the most in your stay in the Corps. How painfully ironic.

Your eyebrows furrow in undisguised bewilderment. “What the hell happened?”

“Don’t you remember?” Connie asks, frowning.

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“You fainted when you arrived.”

A clear-cut flashback of the accident slowly pops in your mind: out of nowhere, while contemplating what impression the confession (or you) incited in Levi — if it did, at all — because he remained awfully quiet during the journey, dizziness and nausea swallowed you whole in the training grounds. And if you heard correctly, Levi had shouted, _“What’s taking you so — oi!”_

Sasha’s feet swings in carefree fashion as she sits at the edge of the bed. “How tired were you?”

“Eh. I don’t know but it’s no big deal.” You reassure her. “Anyway, why are you all here?”

“Because...” Eren scratches his head, chuckling nervously.

Snapping your fingers, you raise an eyebrow at Jean. He doesn’t mince words, not to you. “Because that was three days ago.” he explains. Sharp needles poke your side as you abruptly sit upright, puzzled at the length of your sleep. Fainting spells don’t last _that_ long.

“The doctor said he upped the dose of your painkiller and other medicines,” Mikasa clarifies, as if reading your mind, adjusting the scarf on her neck. “So you’d rest undisturbed.”

“Dinner will be served in a bit,” Armin notes. “We can bring you food, if you like.”

“Thanks,” you say in courtesy before everybody exits the infirmary, smiling at the concern especially from Mikasa and Armin (which may partly be due to Eren, but you’re grateful, nonetheless). Surprising is one way to put it; the more favorable term, though, is endearing. “But I’ll just follow.”

Gentle breeze, in stark contrast to the earlier winds, brush your cheek. Your bed is on the far end of the room, adjacent the partially open windows. From where you sit, chin on the windowsill, an expanse of the open grounds that which you have come to find a picturesque view is in sight.

A feeble cough diverts your attention. Two beds from your left there lay a young boy drinking a glass of water. One look at his bandaged arm and you recognize who it is — one can say he’s the reason you’re here too, in the first place.

You acknowledge him by his name. “Hey. Elijah, right? Are you okay?”

“Hi, yes.” He nods meekly. “Thank you for saving me.”

Crushing guilt creeps in. “Ah, I didn’t do a very good job doing that.”

Despite the knowledge that enlisting in the Corps means signing to either a death sentence or a lifelong sentence of trauma, it doesn’t absolve you of the guilt that you are, as you believe, at fault for the harrowing experience he underwent.

He caresses the bandages morosely, contemplative, before breaking into an unprecedented, lopsided grin. “At least I’m not dead.”

That grin is more haunting than appeasing. It was shallow, how his limb got chopped off — out of hesitation. Plain and simple, which is even more upsetting. And somehow, looking at him, at his kind attempt at a consolation when _you_ should be the one consoling him, triggers the memory of a woman who was just as kind, the ginger hair and brown eyes still vivid in your mind. Of the friends who were just as nice but taken away too early — and God, you weren’t even able to do anything for them. Of the nice relationship with _him_ that you wretched all because you wanted something more.

Things you miss. People you miss.

Suddenly, you feel like shit. In need of a drink or two to drive away the overwhelming, unanticipated blues.

Still, you grin back. Elijah politely declines when you invite him to dinner, assuring you he’s had his meal already.

Misery loves company, and tonight it comes crashing at your doorstep. Unexpectedly. But right after you’ve resigned to sadness, a rare object in your periphery captures your interest. On the bedside table next to where you slept, there lay a single flower.

A blue flower.

* * *

It’s not a drink or two that you’ve had. Definitely more than that.

“I need fresh air.” you said to your friends at dinner. Fresh air is the last thing someone acquires in a pub, based on firsthand experience, and yet somehow, it’s where you end up.

The barkeep looks at you in curious wonder before setting another mug of ale down the table. “Looking so glum, you sure you can take another one?”

“Sure.” you drawl, completely unconvincing to anyone who hears it, and although he’s concerned, he is, first and foremost, a lowly barman whose daily survival depends on every bit of coin, so to deny the grace of money will be ludicrous.

He shrugs before attending to other customers. “Suit yourself.”

Boisterous soldiers, from the Garrison to the Corps to the Brigade, crowd the pub. The clamor, however, is drowned out by the tumult in your head that’s buried between your arms, until someone taps your shoulder lightly.

“Hey.” The person who tapped you winks, suggestive and flirtatious. The spectacle is skin-crawling. Not that he’s particularly bad-looking — in fact, quite the opposite, as your wasted state will tell you. “On your own?”

“Leave me alone. I’m taken.”

It’s laughable how smoothly they glided off your tongue. Not exactly the truth, but not a lie, either.

The rejection is treated with a derisive smile. There is nothing more arousing to a pervert than the gall of a woman to issue a challenge. He prods aggressively, obnoxious and persistent.

“It’ll be worth your —”

You punch him square in the face.

Blood leaks from his broken nose, the sound of cracking bones and a stumbling person attracting a few onlookers. “Bitch.” he gripes, fuming, prepared to initiate a ruckus.

“Keep it in your pants, kid.” As the barkeep interferes, the guy retreats reluctantly, wishing to have given you a jab or two.

Another voice addresses you not even a minute after.

“ _Oi._ ”

It should have been clear already, from the distinct language and dull tone alone, to identify the speaker, but alas, jading senses is what liquor does best. Instead, your mouth runs on full blast.

“Good Lord, I can’t even drink in sad peace. Can’t men take a hint?” Swiveling around, you blow the stray locks clouding your eyesight. “I said I’m taken —”

“Taken by whom?”

Levi’s lips are set into a fine line as he absorbs in the sight in disdain. Back in the days he has seen you tipsy once or twice, but never under a combination of such disheveled hair, flushed cheeks and slightly bloodshot eyes — _what a mess._

“Is that — are you —” You squint, attempting to discern the figure swimming before your eyes. Sucking a breath at the facial recognition, you counter, “Taken aback...when people I don’t expect to be here...show up.”

“Jaegar is already giving me a headache with all the damn failed experiments and you’re giving me another one.”

“Experiments?”

“Not the point, brat.” His jaw clenches briefly. “This level of irresponsibility shouldn’t come from a Squad Leader.”

You prop your hand on your hips. “Don’t pull that card. Not like I’m the first officer to get drunk, so if you’re going to bad company, then leave.”

He turns to his heels to grab a chair near the empty tables when he feels a tug at his black suit. “Wait _._ Don’t leave.” Another tug. “ _Don’t leave._ ”

It is unnerving.

The inflection, the insinuation behind the repetition, is unnerving. His chest constricts. Gaze softens. And then he snaps out of it just as quickly as he had been lost in it, the understanding that you must be truly out of it clear as day, bright as the morning star.

He nods to the barkeep. “How many has she had?”

“Four — five. That’s her fifth.”

Levi’s pupils dilate for a split-second, looking incredibly dubious. He reprimands your shortsightedness and then takes a full swig, ingesting the last of the mug’s contents at inhuman speed despite the itch to vomit after a small taste. You sulk after being threatened to be knocked out should you disagree to return to the headquarters at once, but you comply, nevertheless.

It isn’t easy, the ride back. Simply put, you can be loud and embarrassing. And yet no matter how infuriating the lame jokes and taunting statements can be, his every negative reaction dissipates when you utter an offhand comment about him.

“You look great. And oh, wow, you smell nice.”

He’ll have to ensure you don’t reach this level of drunkenness again.

The flight of stairs seems unending. After some bickering, some pleading that Sasha or Mikasa (or even Elijah) doesn’t witness this inebriated version of you, and a lot of staggering, you find yourself admiring the luxury that is Levi’s plush bed.

Garbled phrases and unintelligible prattle consist your endless talk. For most of the night, Levi has only replied, “Shut the fuck up, brat.” as he does paperwork a feet or two away, monitoring that you don’t throw up in his freshly laundered sheets.

“I don’t get why this is happening. _Or why now._ I guess I just realized I’ve fucked up a lot. Levi’s squad. Last mission. With Levi himself. And out of all those, it’s only the one with him I might still be able to fix.” He looks up at the mention of his name, taken aback at the serious change in atmosphere, only to see you staring at the lamp on the bedside table he’s working on, your posture slouched, expression dejected. “I just...miss him. But I have no clue how to set things right, how to know I’ll never do anything we might regret —”

“I don’t regret it.” He declares so effortlessly this time, contrary to a few days ago when you were both sober. Perhaps it’s the security the alcohol on you provides him — people tend to have little to no recollection of the time they were intoxicated, or so his comrades say.

“What? Oh — huh, I thought I was talking to Hange.”

“In what fucking universe do I sound or look like Four-Eyes?”

“Yeah.” You lift yourself off the bed a little to close some of the distance, cupping his face, tilting it and bringing it close to yours to study it. Adore it. A laugh follows. “How can _anyone_ be this attractive?”

He doesn’t move an inch. Barely breathing. Calculating. Then forcefully he swats your hands away before picking up the pen to return to his work. “Tch.”

Compartmentalization is a skill learned over time. Levi has learned to create vaults in his mind to tuck away the unnecessary emotions at a young age — pain, grief, sorrow, happiness, _attraction_. Emotions are extravagant additions to human life and he is, by no means, an extravagant man. They’re vices to him. A dangerous disadvantage. A chemical defect.

A temptation he allowed himself to succumb to four nights ago.

And this — whatever you’re doing, whatever is happening, is once again doing things to him. The mood fluctuation is toying with him. Vaults that should remain closed, locked, concealed — forbidden — are resurfacing, breaking at the crevices, even the ones long shrouded from him. So it has to cease.

“Go to sleep.” he instructs, jotting down notes, impassive.

As you remove your boots, a thunk draws your attention. Levi’s, as well. An item strapped on the leg of your trousers has apparently fallen off, half of it sheathed in black cloth but the other half visible.

Levi seizes it sooner than you do after sensing your panic. The cover is removed to reveal a small pocket knife, whereas rust is noticeable in some areas, it is in satisfactory condition, like it has been taken care of to the best of the owner’s abilities. The silver metal glints against the light of the lamp on the table.

“You kept it,” he states simply. Astonished. Confused. In awe. “This is the one I gave you before I left.”

Displeased, you snatch it from his palm. “Well, it did save my life a couple of times. Also because it was the only proof I had to remind myself I met you.” You cover your mouth immediately. “MY GOD, SOMEBODY KNOCK ME OUT OR PUT A TAPE OVER MY MOUTH.”

He watches you fall back to the bed, your eyes closed, legs still dangling on the side, one arm extended while the other folded on top of your forehead. If he were to assume, he’d say you might have just fallen asleep — it is, after all, plausible, given that you’ve consumed more than enough liquor.

His assumption would be wrong, though.

“I loved you, you know.”

He didn’t.

“Stop talking.”

You don’t.

“All this time I forced myself not to entertain the idea.” Languidly you plant your back on the headboard, adjusting the blanket. “The one time I did, look where it got us. Hell, there is no _us._ ”

“I said stop talking.” Maybe he prefers the drunk with slurred speech that you were than this one. “Drunk people say the most ridiculous shit.”

“Let me repeat it: I loved you.”

Levi drags his chair closer to you. He’s supposed to blackmail you into silence, to reiterate _fucking stop talking_ , but a different sentence, wholly opposite of his initial plans, comes out. “Do you love me now, then?”

 _Even after what I did_ , he finishes mentally.

“I —”

“Don’t.” A finger shushes you. Cowardice runs deep, after all, perhaps as deep as the resentment he thinks you have for him runs. “Better not to throw words you’ll forget in the morning.”

His demand falls on deaf ears as the alcohol overrules your logic for the thousandth time, you airily kissing the finger right before he retracts it.

“Don’t you fucking pull a stunt like that again, woman!” He hisses, and you cringe. He’s gritting his teeth, raking his hair, and narrowing his eyes. “Goddamn it.” he whispers. _Fucking unreadable_.

“Ha! Color me flattered.” You roar into an uncontrollable laughter that he doesn’t enjoy. “Didn’t know I have an effect on the captain. Also, I _will_ remember this.”

Sighing, he flicks your forehead. “You won’t. Go to sleep.”

It should have been your cue. The secondary warning that should have been heeded. For your sake and for his. But intoxication is a force to be reckoned with, a devil whispering wickedly, _don’t listen to him._ “Ah, but you look like you have something to ask. You do, don’t you?”

“No.”

“ _What is it?_ I want to hear your thoughts.”

“You wouldn’t like them.”

And he means it. Bitterly so.

“So? Indulge me. If you’re so sure I won’t remember this, why not ask it now?”

You are right: there _is_ a nuisance of a memory that has been bothering him for quite a while now, one which he has never brought up to you because he hasn’t found the opportunity or strong urge to do so, until now. And while in practical matters he is often steadfast and decisive, in cases like these, cases too personal that he has concluded they must be avoided, he finds himself wavering. There were a multitude of reasons he wanted you to sleep already — this is one of them. “Fine. I heard you back in Mitras.”

“What do you mean?”

“After we had that meeting about the Female Titan. I heard what you told Dennis and Schlimme about me — that you think I’m inherently good.” he articulates, “Why?”

“Because that’s what I think.”

“Then you don’t know me.”

It was automatic, the way someone will relay what he perceives as an unchangeable fact.

“True, you’ve always been so hard to read.” If it were any other person, they will not have noticed the tinge of disappointment in your voice. Except with Levi, and with how you just pulled the blanket close to shield you from the cold and sink your head between your knees, he does. “I don’t know you entirely...but enough to mean what I said.”

Crossing his arms, he dares, “Right, tell three things about me.”

“Easy!” You raise your head, eyes crinkling in enthusiasm. “One, you’re Levi. Neat-obsessed captain with a foul mouth. Hates the Underground; hates the Military Police even more — _I would know_. Two, you act like you don’t feel anything, but you do, and deeply, when it’s comes to your soldiers. And even if the whole world says you’re a good man, you won’t believe it. You are, though.”

With blood boiling, hellbent to prevent to prove you incorrect, he huffs. How unsettling you hold him in such high regard. And secretly, _calming._

“Don’t be naive,” he vilifies. “Especially since we come from the same background. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Will probably still do.”

“Exactly. You’re not proud of them. They’re inexcusable, of course, but you’re here. In the Survey Corps. That counts for something.” The lack of response prompts you to continue. “I can’t mend you. That’s something you’ve got to do on your own, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it _alone_.”

His muscles tense. “What’s the third thing?”

“Right.” You exhale loudly. “The third one.”

Life is a masquerade and secrecy is a veil everyone loves wearing. Tonight, you lift your own. Your eyes pierce his and for a second, to him you seemed completely sober. Solemn. Strangely melancholic and wistful.

“You always look but you never see.”

A beat.

“Explain.”

“Just that. You never _see_ me. I am nothing more than afterthought.” Yawning, you envelop yourself between the sheets. “Good night, Levi. You’re right — I should’ve gone to sleep. I — you know me too much now. And unfortunately, in a way I might never know you.”

Levi enters the bathroom. Assesses his face in the mirror. Observes the cracks in the sink. The water is running, and with it comes his thoughts, ebbing and flowing, all of them about the one who has just fallen asleep in his rarely used bed. In the abysmal pit of self-loathing he has fallen into, you have always held a rope, pulling him up when he could’ve been dragging you down.

He wishes he can do the same for you.

Because in reality he sees you, sometimes a little too much, sometimes more than he likes to admit, and it’s fucking irritating. How you’d fix your ponytail before every fight in combat training, for he knows that to you, the hair tie is a status symbol: you never bothered with lavish accessories in the Underground. How dreams keep you alive but you’re too afraid to say them out loud, afraid to set anything in stone. Or even how you like that damned flower.

And he’ll never admit it to you, but the night you first kissed, you didn’t just stitch his wounds — you stitched his heart whole again.

When he emerges from the bathroom, your back is no longer turned to him. Instead, he gets to admire the light shining on your face.

You are not an afterthought.

It’s almost like an epiphany.

“I see you. I always do.”

* * *

Every now and then the wagon lurches on the way to Trost. After having been debriefed about the specifics of the experiments on Eren’s abilities, your squad has been included among those tasked to supervise Eren and secure the perimeter during these experiments. Today’s was just as unsuccessful as yesterday’s, or so you have been told.

“He barely managed to transform!” Hange pouts beside you as she peruses her notebook. “We got a good sketch of that time his human form merged with the titan face, though. Look.”

Levi grunts in response to Hange’s constant brandishing of her notes to him. “That’s because you kept pressuring the brat.”

Nothing seemed off with Levi, save for the fact that has purposefully avoided you the entire day, and it’s _too_ deliberate for you to be mistaken Too deliberate that it has made you even more intrigued about the last thing he had told you this morning.

_“MY HEAD!” In your skull was a throbbing pain. Every bone and sinew felt as if they were being ripped apart and coalesced simultaneously._

_It rang through someone’s ears._

_“Lower your damn voice, woman!” You winced from the blaring noise, mind foggy. Whoever was speaking seemed to have his lips connected directly to your ear, filling every space, amplifying the low, husky timbre. “You’re going to wake up the entire building.”_

_A male’s voice. A... male’s voice?_

_Hangers were clashing in the darkness. Closets were opening and closing. A shadow on the far right corner of the room moved in smooth motion, rummaging through something, and then it trudged towards the bed — towards you._

_Before you could react, the shadow had already thrown a white towel on your face. “Wash yourself. You smell like shit,” it said. “Fucking five mugs of beer...”_

_It was Levi. And you were on his bed._

_You were given no time to process this new information. His hands felt cold on your skin as he dragged you to the bathroom, and appalling was the first thing you thought of when your reflection in the mirror came into view. Only when you were finally wiping the soap residue and excess water on your face did pieces stick themselves together._

_“FIVE?”_

_The door opened in an instant._

_“What don’t you get about lowering your voice?!” Levi looked pissed, as he normally did, only this time, with the aid of the bathroom light, you got a good glimpse of his wet hair and bare torso, a towel hung on his shoulder. You stifled a laugh. It all seemed incredibly domestic, so much so that it softened his demeanor. Very unlike him. “It’s fucking four AM.”_

_“...five?” You grimaced in disbelief. “I didn’t say anything stupid, did I?”_

_“You always say something stupid. I take it you don’t remember anything?”_

_“Shut up. Just bits. I remember punching someone. And then you drinking what was mine. Some tripping, too.” You said, returning the towel he gave you and collecting your accessories on the round table near his bed. Jacket, worn. Hair tie, looped. Knife — you froze. Your eyes darted to your trousers, checking, and the absence of the black sheath confirms your suspicion. If it was on the table, he must have seen it, identified it, interrogated you about it. “Seriously, what did I do?”_

_Levi scoffed. He fucking knew it. Of course you’d forget. And yet somehow, behind the relief that flooded him was a fleeting pang of disappointment that which he immediately dismissed. This was for the best._

_“You were annoying, as usual.” He cleared his throat. “That’s it. Now out.”_

_He was no longer in a mood for a discussion and you could tell._

_“I see.” You stood outside his office. “In any case, I... apologize you had to witness whatever I did last night.”_

_The door closed and the lock clicked._

“If only Eren can pull that same stunt Annie did...” Hange whines, interrupting your train of thought.

Pull that stunt. Oddly so, the phrase is vaguely familiar. You chew your lip. Keen to discover why, you rack your brain — something must have happened last night.

Hange nudges you. “Have you gotten a wink of sleep? You barely spoke today.” She cups your face in, yet again, a vaguely familiar manner.

“Yes, I’m —”

And just like that, everything hits you.

It comes in flashes, every bout connecting like puzzle pieces in rapid succession. “— I’m fine.”

Levi already has his eyes riddled into yours when you look at him, a mutual understanding that yes, you remember, and yes, he knows. _No fucking way._

The horse has yet to come to a full halt when he disembarks the wagon upon arrival. His steps are brisk and salutes are quick — the rate at which the sun descends and the moon ascends now cannot compare. You follow him closely behind, matching his pace, until he reaches his office.

Then the door closed and the lock clicked.

What a fucking ass.

This time you pounded on it, turning the knob every so often it might break from the incessant turning.

“I’m not leaving!” you shout.

Three knocks.

Thirteen knocks.

Thirty knocks.

“What?” He growls, the door ajar only ever so slightly. “I’m busy.”

“Busy, what, evading me —” Tempers begin to fray. “Why do you fucking refuse to tell me ANYTHING?” you chide, a foot sandwiched between the door and its frame.

His lids flutter close for a good second before stomping back to his desk and allowing you to enter on your own volition. The thud of your boots are heavy against floorboard as your rush to his desk and lean on it with one hand.

“If you don’t regret it, why are you acting like you do?”

Ink keeps flowing from his pen and everything else is eerily silent that the seconds nearly stretch into years. Nothing could have prepared you for what follows.

“I might, in the future.”

There it is: the very same horrible, sinking feeling that brewed in the pit of your stomach in the infirmary when he told you to leave. If you knew remembering will lead to this, then it would’ve been preferable to be kept in the dark because this — _this_ is more than what you bargained for.

And unfortunately, there is no sedative for a broken heart.

“I’m not finished.” He grips your wrist. “I have nightmares. Corpses. People dying. Not me — I’d laugh if it were. Most faces I could barely recognize but three people are distinct. Two of them are already dead. You know who the third one is? You. Ever — ever since _that_ happened, they got worse. And in case you didn’t notice, I fucking faltered last mission. You get where I’m going with this.”

God, he can gag at the vulnerability. Five seconds pass. And then ten. And then twenty. _Why aren’t you saying anything?_ He looks up to see you staring mindlessly at the documents on his desk.

“Look at me.” He says. You do. Disturbingly enough, your eyes look distant, disengaged. He is at the receiving end of _not seeing_ , and it is absolutely demeaning. “ _Look at me._ ” He urges, “Say something.”

 _Say something_ , not _shut up_. That’s new. That’s nice.

“I am alive.”

“What weird shit are you on —”

“Even after you said you faltered, I am alive. I saw the Female Titan with my own eyes, and here I am, alive. When I fought titans on my own in my first mission with no experience whatsoever, I returned alive. By now you should know that my survival,” you say calmly, “does not depend on you.”

“It’s not about — fuck. Fuck. I know you’re capable and you don’t need me. It’s just — fuck.” He clutches your wrist even tighter. “You have got to stop playing with my feelings.”

You blink rapidly. “No, stop playing with _mine_. I’m tired of second-guessing what exactly I am to you. Because to answer your question last night —”

“Don’t. I can’t —”

“— yes.”

The air is nothing short of tension. It hugs you, holds you, cradles you like a mother cradles her infant.

“I’m going to say this once,” he warns, “so you better fucking listen carefully.”

You remain quiet. Listening. Dreading. Hoping.

Levi has three missions in life: kill titans, avenge his friends, and, whenever possible, rain hell on the Military Police. _And fucking hell, none of this was supposed to happen._ Because right now, apparently, he doesn’t mind doing them with someone by his side. In fact, he’d much rather do that.

If it meant that someone is you.

“You’re the one I see myself with when I imagine seeing the sea for the first time.”

Confusion hits first, realization next.

A look akin to relief and joy is plastered on your face. And when you bring your lips close to his ear, you give him the catalyst that drives him to throw all caution to the wind.

The calm before the storm.

“Kiss me like you mean it.”

And then his lips collide with yours.

The world stops.

And time —

Time is infinite.

All that once simmered in your skin and in his spill in unrestrained speed and magnitude, that as if to contain them any longer will mean to burst like a supernova, and somehow you wonder why you haven’t combusted from the heat, exploded from the intensity, collapsed from the greatness. You sit on his lap, legs dangling on either side of his, thrusting, tugging his hair in fused gentleness and roughness that sends his brain into overdrive.

You missed this.

He missed it too, as evidently depicted by how closely he pulled you into an embrace. His hands explore your thighs, makes its way to your back then to your neck and then to your hair, unraveling the ponytail to remind himself how you looked like all those years ago, and that whether this happens above ground or under, there is no one else he’d rather do it with. He licks your lips. Sucks it. Bites it. Everything is a comforting violence. And he realizes, right then and there, that it’s better to live for a day with this than a lifetime of none of it at all.

You thought if this day did come an all-consuming irrationality awaits, and yet there is none — only the feeling that this is the most rational thing in the world.

The hard wood of the desk comes into contact with your back. Your hands search for anything to steady you, and you curse internally when papers fly to the floor.

His lips still do wonders on yours.

And then it’s in your cheek, in your neck, in your collarbone. Emotions come in colors. Yours form an entire spectrum.

“Levi.”

“Hmm?”

“How much do you like this?”

“This much.” He thrusts his hips. “How much do you like this?”

You hug him, wrap your legs around him to make him repeat the motion, and when he does, you meet him halfway. “This much.”

Oxygen seems to dwindle when your lips crash with his another time. And then it seems trivial.

_If this is how you’ll take my breath away, then by all means, make me breathless._

His hands squeeze your waist a little too harshly for the healing bruise to appreciate. You ignore it. You can endure that. Except you stiffened a little too much for his liking. He lifts himself off you, heaving.

“I don’t really care,” you say, laughing sheepishly, “Well, maybe a bit.”

You sit up, heaving.

Papers strewn on the floor catch his eyes. Clicking his tongue in disapproval, he reprimands halfheartedly, “You made a fucking mess.”

“Whatever, you idiot.”

Several candles light the room. They dance on his skin, playing with the shadows on his features in a way that makes your heart squirm in delight, and you smile, unbelieving that this view is yours to see. With sparks in your fingertips you touch his face, free in the knowledge that this time, every and all inhibitions that have hindered you from kissing him can now be abandoned in a heartbeat.

Your lips travel excruciatingly slowly on his jaw that he almost wishes time can run faster. Almost. Finally, they’re on his cheeks. And then on his lips. You tease him with light, peppery kisses, holding the sides of his face, until he pushes your head to his and secures it in place. The kiss, this time, is languorous. Not violent and yet equally powerful.

It’s slow and intimate, entirely provocative, entirely telling of whatever you and he suppressed when you were devoid of the courage to say them or the words to say them with. It’s a kiss in the spring, a symbol of new beginnings, where yesterday’s uncertainties shed and wither, one by one, as purpose grows and thrives in leaves and petals and branches.

It’s too good to be anything else but a dream.

And if this is a dream, then might as well dream forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things are so exciting they get scary, apparently. After an arduous ride (which I will no longer narrate), I finally — finally! — managed to cough up these words.
> 
> I was so close to ending this on a cliffhanger quote but I just celebrated my birthday a few days ago (yes, irrelevant to the story but shamelessly announcing it anyway lol) so this is like a present from me to you. Thank you for sticking around.
> 
> :)


	16. Chapter 16

_“Kiss me like you mean it.” You said, and Levi was intent on doing just that._

_His left hand linked itself to the hem of your shirt, two fingers gingerly loosening the second button. He hummed in approval (and in surprise), when you undid the first one._

_“Someone isn’t shy.”_

_A small chuckle had bubbled in your throat. “As you so elegantly phrased it, ‘Nothing you haven’t seen.’ Or,” Mischief vibrated in your voice as you withdrew his fingers from your shirt. “We could rather not.”_

_Secretly amused, he guided your hand to his upper arm and then kissed the area below your collarbones extensively, bordering on the chest but not quite there. Your teeth dug themselves into your bottom lip as he nibbled on a spot without warning. The price for your cheek, he said without needing to utter a word._

_The heavy, irregular breaths tickling the crook of his neck. The slight stretch of his sleeve from your tug. The sharp hiss when his hand slides over your ribs, thumb brushing the side of your breast discreetly. You were trying your damnedest not to create noise. And he reveled on it. Cute. But it would be better if he heard some._

_Beneath the skin-deep thirst, however, Levi marveled at this newfound proximity. He had never imagined he would (or could) be this close to you — or to anyone, for that matter._

_In truth, anxiety floated in your head. There lingered the idea that maybe this was pushing things to far, but it popped not long after — one, because he took another fucking bite, lower this time, still gentle but not as gentle as before, and it almost made you whimper._

_And two, because there was a bang on the door._

“Oi, _focus_. Whatever you’re thinking better be worth it if you’re going to crash into a tree.”

Levi jolts you to reality.

Riding through the forest to the isolated cabin where Eren and Historia are hidden, you watch as streaks of golden light inserted themselves through the spaces between trees. The journey has been quiet save for the rhythmic galloping of horses through the dirt.

“Oh, it is.” You offer sly smile, then a snicker. “I mean, you sure looked hilarious — adorable, also, but mostly hilarious — scrambling for the papers when Hange barged in that night, weeks ago!”

“And you looked like an idiot curling under the desk.”

Heat rises to your cheeks. You shudder involuntarily, recalling how your fight-or-flight response to being caught in a position that was extremely immodest for a Captain and his subordinate was to hide under the desk; how he just had to kick you in the shin and say, “Tch. Get out of there.” when he could no longer justify to Hange the untidiness.

It took the threat of burning her laboratory for Hange to zip her mouth.

It has been weeks since then, and somehow, despite all the kisses and hugs and touches that have been shared after (mostly in his office, but sometimes in secluded corners, too), it is still that night your brain drifts back to. That isn't to say that the ones that followed were lackluster, because they _definitely weren't_.

Sometimes heated, sometimes gentle, but _never_ lackluster.

“Hey — it was the first thing I could think of!”

“My point still stands.”

Glancing sideways to your squad members, you mutter lowly, “I was also wondering what could’ve happened if she hadn’t interrupted.”

He opens his mouth only to close them right away, tilting his head briefly to catch your eyes now transfixed on the path ahead, the reins fastened to the horse bundled solidly in your hands.

“Only what you would have wanted.”

You can’t quite pinpoint what about it makes your cheeks hot again.

When the cabin comes into sight, Sasha and Connie are on the lookout posts, replaced by you and Jean eventually. A rifle is slung on your shoulder, and with it comes the unwelcome, intrusive memories of your years in the Military Police. _This is training to protect the people, so you better shoot accurately_ , one of the chief officers shouted as you failed to hit the dead center of the target for the fifth time.

What a load of bullshit. How disgustingly audacious of them to pretend it wasn’t because they were on the hunt for potential Interior Military Police members.

“So,” Jean taps his foot after what seemed like hours. “You and the Captain.”

“What about us?”

“You’re back to normal.”

An observation rather than a question.

You feign ignorance. “Haven’t we always been?”

“Don’t lie.”

“We... talked.” You groan internally, disappointed that Levi’s classic indifference served little to no benefit in keeping things private. “It’s time to switch guards. I’ll call substitutes.”

In the living room, Levi observes the hazy sunset approach, sipping tea alone and characteristically stoic. The shadow of movement and light footsteps notify him of your presence.

“Hi.”

He nods, gaze flitting to you and then to the other cup of tea he set on the table just recently, steaming and full to the brim. The aroma pervades your nose.

“It’s for me, isn’t it?” you tease, picking the cup by the handle as you take a seat. The small twitch in his lips is the ultimate giveaway. “Since when did you make tea for other people?”

“Keep that attitude and this will be the last time.”

You hide a smile behind the rim.

It tastes _exactly_ how you like it.

Sometimes you catch yourself searching for these in-betweens, these interludes between the tragedies of the world, the ones where time stands still and for a moment there is the kind of peace fate would never be so generous to gift in abundance.

Meals at the hall. Small talk with friends. Even training in-between experiments. In one of them Levi said, “I’m not going to go easy on you.” before ordering you to run ten laps with everybody else, and it was with a shared understanding that he meant it as a compliment when you replied, “Good. I’d hate it if you did.” with a wink.

Sometimes you wish these intervals last longer than they do.

Thoughts far darker, Levi is as occupied as you are, questioning whether or not fate has had a change of heart because things — _things are too peaceful_. There’s always a catch.

First, his friends. Then, his squad.

So as morbid as it is, he wonders if you, too, would get taken away from him like a rug ripped mercilessly from under his feet.

* * *

It is as if he beckoned danger himself. As if life, after having heard Levi’s thoughts, sporadically chooses to revert to its cheap tricks. With dusk came the arrival of Hange and the news of Pastor Nick’s death, and then of Nifa and the news that the Royal Government has frozen all activity of the Corps beyond the walls.

There it is, the trouble he’s looking for.

“Get all the rest you can. We’ll resume travel at dawn.” Levi says halfway through the task of smuggling Eren and Historia to Trost, setting up camp in the woods. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Hours later, he stares blankly at the embers of the dying flames. His acute hearing detects the crunch and rustle of leaves from behind.

“You’re not going to sleep?” you ask, sitting beside him whilst retaining a careful distance.

“No.”

“Come on.” A nudge. “We’ve got some time left. I’ll take watch.”

Painfully hesitant to disclose such privy details, he murmurs, “Insomnia.”

“Oh. Sorry.” You grab a thin twig nearby and repeatedly poke the soil. Once the fire blazed a final time and then flickered out, you mumble, “How often do you have them?”

“The what?”

“The nightmares.”

His jaw goes rigid.

A strained sigh escapes his lips. “Twice.” He divulges, and then adds, “On a good week.”

And then he feels a squeeze, one that does not require any sort of explanation, one that encapsulates emotions even he can’t begin to describe, one that speaks of assurance. At first his hand is limp, allowing the gesture but not returning.

But there’s something in the rawness of your voice, in the sincerity and innocence of it all, when you whisper, “Together.” with lids shut that compels him to reciprocate it.

_Together._

How can an incredibly mundane word have such power over him? He doesn’t wait for his brain to produce an answer, squeezing back just as hard then a little bit more, permitting himself to trust in the absurdity that if he holds on to it hard enough, maybe one good thing in his life won’t disappear.

And then suddenly, he feels a little bit lighter.

“Together.”

* * *

Your pulse accelerates as you land atop a house, monitoring the wagon that’s transporting Eren and Historia.

“Ever gotten blood on your hands?” Levi inquires in a hush, tone grave.

“No. Well, injured or incapacitated people, yes, but no, not killed.”

His shoulders stiffens. He assumed just as much. The Underground is a breeding ground for killers, but you had business that provided food on the table — the most decent kind available in the Underground, that is. _Street fight is different from killing_. “Then this is an order. Kill if you have to. Am I clear?”

The weapon concealed by your cloak seems to have doubled its weight. You bite your tongue.

He snaps his fingers and grabs you by the forearms. “ _Am I clear?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah.” You reply almost imperceptibly, tongue on the inside of your cheek. “I will.”

“Good. Keep your squad in check,” He shoots the grapple hooks onto a nearby wall, eyes locking with yours a tad longer than usual before heading to Nifa. “And don’t die.”

“You too.”

Cold sweat trickles down the side of your forehead as the atmosphere turns unfriendly, now that Levi has instructed you to kill. Something is off. An eerie feeling creeps in, one you’ve been accustomed to as a result of customary strolls along the dark alleyways of the Underground alone.

Like someone is watching.

You grit your teeth. _This is Trost._ If there is one man who scares the living shit out of you, he’s in the city capital, working in the Military Police. _This is Trost_. _He can’t be here_.

From where you stand, the wagon, trapped by the jostling crowd of Trost, is clearly visible. Your eyes jump from one squad member to another, all stationed in rear angles, all under extreme concentration.

Silence.

Someone is watching. You can feel it. The sensation pierces your skull.

More silence.

Then panic.

On the edge of the roof where Levi and Nifa are, a man whose face resembles that of someone whom you’ve seen work for the Interior Squad climbs in terrifying stealth. He aims a gun. Then cocks it.

_Oh, God._

“LEVI —”

Nifa drops like a rag doll.

Consecutive blasts resound from every direction, each ring more felt than heard as if it strikes you at the gut and holds you by the neck. All deafening. All alarming. The air carries the faint smell of gunpowder and the smoke from fired cartridges.

You turn around. And then dock in the nick of time to avoid a shot at point-blank range.

 _Good God, you almost got killed_.

The shooter gasps, “Oh, it’s _you_. Damn, good thing I missed.” He reloads the gun, striding to you in such unmistakable arrogance. A soldier from the Brigade. Typical. “He’ll want to see you personally.”

Logic commands you to run; curiosity begs you to stay.

“He?”

“You know who.” He cackles maniacally. “Schlimme. Still _really_ pissed you sabotaged him.”

The name is a rude awakening. A grim reminder that you cannot escape the goddamn mistake of joining the Military Police.

You frantically leap away from the house, steel cables shooting out of your gear and hooks latching to the bricks of a building, but not without catching a glimpse of the splayed bodies.

Dead bodies.

Your squad members.

There is a lump in your throat.

Stomach churning and hands shaking, there is nothing more you wish to do but remain. And yet you flee. Because fleeing is the only option when the shooter is on your tail, his firearms targeting body parts that don’t contain vital organs.

The whizzing gears. The blaring gunshots. The furious civilians bellowing at the commotion. All of them meld into background noise as the heart in your chest thrums erratically.

He flies lower and lower, moves faster and faster, until you’re finally within his reach and then he topples you to the ground.

You cough, rolling over.

And then a cold barrel is on the back of your head.

“Don’t move, or I will shoot.”

* * *

Levi heard a scream. He _knows_ he heard a scream.

A scream of his name, to be precise.

He descends the stairs with Hange and Moblit after having uncovered the truth about the Reiss bloodline from Ralph and Sannes, head busy with images from the ambush hours ago. As soon as he eliminated the enemies who targeted him, he spared a minute to return where you had been. There were six bodies in the area.

Three from Hange’s squad; three from yours.

Doubt claws to the back of his mind as he thoroughly acknowledges in himself for first time your absence and the obtained clues — or the shortage thereof. There was no blood, no body, not even a gun or torn clothing — nothing at all. Nothing that indicated death or injury.

And what is he to make of _nothing_?

“Moblit, can you wait for me outside?” Hange requests as soon as they reach they reach the end of the stairs. Moblit obliges. Once he’s out of earshot, Hange taps Levi whose attention is on the stone floor. “Levi. I said after we deliver the news to Erwin, let’s meet at the usual spot. Did you hear me?” She taps again. “Levi?”

“Hmm.”

“Levi.” Hange says sternly.

“What?” Levi’s brows meet in the middle after the lack answer, finally realizing that he and Hange are the only ones left in the room. Her arms are crossed by the time he fully turns to her.

“She’s alive. You know that, right?”

“You don’t need to tell me that.”

She puts a hand on her hip. “And yet you look unconvinced. Let’s put it this way: she grew up in the same environment as you did, came from the Military Police, and trained under your supervision. So don’t worry, you’re going to get to do whatever you were doing that night again.” She smirks and ruffles his hair. “And maybe more.”

“Mind your own business.” He scowls at her. “And you’re not one to sugarcoat things so stop trying to say —”

“I’m not trying to say the right words. I’m saying the truth. You’re wired into always thinking the worst case scenario, but sometimes, it _isn’t_ the truth.” Hange fixes her glasses, walking towards the exit. “I’ll be leaving now. You’re going to be fine, right?”

He grunts, attempting to sound neutral, attempting to drill in his skull the wisdom Hange just spouted. That the worst case scenario isn’t always the truth.

“Hey. Hange.” Levi calls out. Hange peeks from outside the door, expectant. “...Thanks.”

She flashes a side-splitting grin, and she swears to herself she just saw the hint of a smile from him. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Hange.
> 
> Posting this at 4 am on September 6, but whatever. It’s probably still the 5th in other places. Good night! I hope you’re all doing great. (Side note: Still can't stop thinking about the latest manga update.). Comments are appreciated :)


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